Sesquipedalian
by Emachinescat
Summary: A collection of stories, each inspired by a different big, weird, or obscure word, angsty, funny, suspenseful; genre depending on the word of the day. NOW: "The scariest thing about Arthur's reaction to Merlin's magic was that he didn't react at all."
1. Logodaedaly

Sesquipedalian by Emachinescat

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

SUMMARY: A collection of one shots/drabbles, each inspired by a different big, weird, or obscure word, funny, angsty, modern, serious, depending on the word of the day.

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**A/N: Quick note before I begin the story: This is the first time I've ever attempted something like this (a collection of random one-shots) and it goes completely against my OCD nature to have a bunch of stories in one big story that aren't connected. That being said, I happened to think of this and couldn't let it die. So I'm doing it. I've got 25 other one-shots/drabbles (well, two of them are three-shots) planned out so far, with more to come. Each one will be about something different, and each will be inspired by a different unusual, BIG, or obscure word. Some will be stories with plots, some will be reflections, and some will be drabbles. Funny, sad, stupid, dramatic, angsty… depending on the word of the day. Also, I'll say this now – none of the one-shots will be slash. Not my thing. :D Please REVIEW! And Enjoy!**

**Oh, and a sesquipedalian is a person who loves to use big words! :D This one is set sometime in season 3. May be slight spoilers, but only to witty banter. XD**

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**Sesquipedalian **

**Chapter One: Logodaedaly**

_**logodaedaly, **__n.  
(LOH-guh-DEE-duh-lee)  
The clever creation of new words; the clever use of words_

Merlin glared at Arthur, who was currently laughing as his servant bumbled down the stairs, arms loaded down with equipment for training. "Glad to see that my struggling is amusing you, _sire_," Merlin moaned sarcastically as he very nearly tripped over his own feet. He winced slightly, knowing that if he were to have fallen, it would have not been pleasant, since he was still only halfway down the steep stone staircase.

Arthur simply snorted at Merlin's remark, not at all bothered by the unorthodox tone his servant was using with him. He was used to it by now, even if most nobles would have already fired or strung the servant up by now. Arthur liked Merlin's surly retorts – he had once told Merlin that they were his only redeemable feature. While Arthur didn't actually believe that was the case (although he'd die before he admitted it), it was true that he enjoyed Merlin's witty banter. It helped humble him, and almost never failed to cheer him up.

"Come on, _Mer_lin!" he urged far too cheerily. "Put your back into it! I'd like to start training before the sun goes down, you know." It was just a few hours after dawn.

When Merlin finally dismounted the last step, his head barely visible behind the load of stuff he was carrying, Arthur burst into laughter. "Well, now, that's an improvement," he joked. "I should have you carry this much of my equipment more often, Merlin. No one can see you this way. If only we can find a way to make you shut up as well…"

He grinned at his servant – his friend, although he wouldn't acknowledge it – to let him know that he was jesting.

Merlin, it seemed, already knew that Arthur was teasing because he had a comeback already rolling off the end of his tongue. "Prat."

Arthur rolled his eyes exaggeratedly as the two walked out of the castle and in the direction of the training field. "Honestly, _Mer_lin, you would think that you'd have come up with some better names by now. If I had a gold piece for every time you called me a prat, I'd be as rich as the king."

Merlin shot back, "Well, that's not saying much, Arthur, because you are the king's _son._"

Arthur nodded. "You have a point Merlin. Which means that it's _Prince_ Arthur to you, idiot," he remarked affectionately.

They reached the training field and Merlin dropped Arthur's equipment – shields, swords, knives, lances, armor – in a heap at his feet. "Besides," Merlin pressed on, "I don't always call you a prat. There are much more creative words to call someone of your supreme pratness."

Arthur crossed his well-muscled arms across his strong chest. "Oh really, _Mer_lin?"

"Sure," the servant replied cheerily, bending down to fetch Arthur his sword. "I believe I've called you a 'clot pole' before." Arthur opened his mouth to respond but Merlin barreled ahead, "Oh, and 'dollop head' – that was one of my personal favorites."

Arthur harrumphed. "'Dollop head,'" the crown prince of Camelot repeated in a stern voice, his lighthearted undertone betraying how much he was actually enjoying this conversation. "I don't believe that you've ever told me exactly _what_ a dollop head _is_, _Mer_lin. Care to embellish?"

Merlin grinned cheekily. "I've told you – Prince Arthur."

Arthur shook his head, taking the sword from Merlin and letting it hang loosely from his hand, not ready to train quite yet. "No, Merlin. That's not good enough this time. You can't just say that _I'm _a dollop head and let that be your definition. Tell me. What is a dollop head?" He blinked in a seemingly innocent manner. "Or did you just make it up?"

Merlin laughed nervously. "Of course I didn't," he scoffed. "_Dollop head_ happens to be a word coined by the…" he thought for a moment, "…the, er, French."

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "The French?"

Merlin nodded. "Yep. It means, uh, pompous. Narcissistic. Prat-like in manner. Over-bearing. Patronizing. Annoying. Obnox—" He broke off when he saw the look on his master's face, a mixture of bewilderment, amusement, and annoyance.

"I never knew that one word could have so many definitions, _Mer_lin."

Merlin blushed. "Yeah, well, I don't make the rules," he muttered.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Fine, fine!" Merlin snapped good-naturedly. "If you want me to continue calling you a prat for the rest of your life, fine by me! I'm sure there are plenty forms of the word so that I won't get bored… hmmm…" He grinned devilishly. "Let's see… Prince Prat, The Pratmaster, Sir Prat, Prat, Arthur Prat-dragon…" Merlin trailed off, smirking.

"And I'll have a new nickname for you," Arthur growled, his eyes twinkling, showing Merlin that he wasn't being serious. At least not _too_ serious. He fell silent.

"Well?" Merlin prodded and jumped back as Arthur hefted his sword, swinging it a few times to warm up.

Arthur looked over at his servant blankly. "Well…what?"

"What's the nickname?" Merlin asked impatiently.

Arthur smiled wickedly. "That's it."

"What, silence?" Merlin asked, confused.

Arthur nodded. "There's no need to call you anything if you suddenly and mysteriously disappear, never to be seen again, is there, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin gulped. "Alright," he gave in. "Dollop head it is." Arthur lifted the sword threateningly and Merlin took a hasty step back, laughing. "Clot pole?" Arthur advanced and Merlin retreated another few steps. "Okay, alright, Arthur!" Arthur continued to glare and Merlin sighed dramatically. "That's as good as you're going to get, Arthur, so you may as well kill me for calling you by your birth name!"

Arthur lowered his sword. "As appealing as that sounds," he drawled, "if I kill you now, who is going to clean all this equipment you dropped in the dirt later?" Merlin groaned and Arthur laughed, motioning for Merlin to pick up the shield.

"Dollop head," Merlin muttered under his breath. Arthur shot him a look.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing…" Merlin murmured soothingly, a small smile beginning to form on his lips as he plotted his revenge on his friend and master.

Five minutes later, Arthur was at a loss to explain how his feet had just slipped out from under him right when he was stepping over that giant mud puddle…

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**A/N: Please review and let me know what you thought of the first one! **

**NEXT TIME – **_**Woolgathering -**_** Arthur can't stop daydreaming about Gwen long enough to get anything done and Uther is starting to get suspicious! **

**Please review, because reviews are what inspire me to write more! :D**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	2. Woolgathering

**A/N: I was shocked at the response this fic got! Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Just so you know, I don't have a specific day reserved for updates, these are just whenever I'm inspired, and it just so happens I'm inspired! Enjoy and don't forget to review! :) This one's more of a drabble/reflection. It takes place in season 3 sometime before episode 10 and is Arthur/Gwen.**

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**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Two: Woolgathering**

**_woolgathering, _**_n.  
(WOOL-ga-ther-rihng)  
Indulgence in idle daydreaming_

She just refuses to leave my mind.

She has been there all day, sometimes standing right in view, her dark, curly locks swaying gently with a breeze that seemed to have come out of nowhere, sometimes lurking temptingly in the corners of my consciousness, still beautiful, still pure, still forbidden.

I don't know how much more of it I can take, really.

It isn't that I don't _want_ to see her all day long. I would prefer that, actually. To be able to bear witness to her uncontestable beauty all hours of the day would be a remarkable thing indeed. Her soft, dark skin smelling lightly of lavender, her luscious curls brushing her shoulders and back with the utmost delicacy, those big, warm brown eyes locked on mine, her sweet lips curled in a sweet smile, taunting me…

It is all very wonderful to have her there in my mind all hours of the day – and night, in my dreams, if truth be told – but she is beginning to become a bit of a distraction. My father has begun to notice that something is not quite right with me as of late. Perhaps it was the way I will stare off into space during council meetings, or hum while I'm helping him with reports, or the way that I nearly tripped over my own feet (something I never cease to tease that idiotic servant of mine about, mind you!) when Guinevere walked by carrying Morgana's laundry the other day.

The worst part is, she is forbidden. Untouchable. Not that I want to compromise her honor in any way, shape, or form, however – all I mean to say is that she and I can never be. She is a servant, I am a prince. Our love would be looked upon with the greatest contempt should my father find out. She could be in danger if he knew. So we keep it secret.

It is getting increasingly hard to keep a secret like this – a secret that makes my heart swell, my mind funny, and makes me want to shout out my devotion for the lowly serving girl who has stolen my heart, my everything. Ah – but she's not lowly at all. In my eyes, she is the most beautiful princess a prince could desire.

It doesn't matter that she wears old cotton shifts and spends her mornings scrubbing out Morgana's fireplace. It doesn't matter that she must call me "Sire" and not look me in the eye. It doesn't even matter that she should be the last person someone of my status should take an interest in. It doesn't matter.

Because I love her.

And that is why it hurts so much to see her all the time, every minute, even when she's not within my range of sight. I know it can never be, and seeing her constantly only makes it worse. But _not_ to see her would be a fate worse than death.

A paradox.

Sometimes – just sometimes – I think about what it would be like to be someone of little importance, like Merlin. After all, he can be with whoever he wants – except noblewomen, of course, and Guinevere, because if he made a move toward her he'd be in the stocks faster than he could say "dollop head" – and doesn't have to keep his feelings hidden.

My love for her is strong, though, and I will continue to suffer in silence. For her. For Guinevere.

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**A/N: Hope it wasn't too sappy; I don't write a lot of romance, so this is what you get lol! :D**

**NEXT TIME – _soporific _– Arthur can't get to sleep, Merlin helps him out in an unexpected way. (Not slash, remember? Get your minds out of the gutter! LOL)**

**Please review!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	3. Soporific

**A/N: Wow! Inspired two days in a row! How about that? As I said in the last Author's Note, this isn't slash, LOL! This one takes place sometime during the first season, before episode 10, "The Moment of Truth." Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter two; I was honestly worried I gone over the top with the sappiness, but then again, I think anything vaguely romantic is sappy and am more prone to say "ew" than "aw" in a love story, so… Lol, good to know it wasn't too sappy! Please review and enjoy!**

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**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Three: Soporific**

**_soporific  
_**_(sah-puh-RIH-fihk)  
Inducing sleep; drowsy_

"Merlin." His voice was slightly agitated, but mostly unsure, as if he hadn't exactly decided what he was going to say yet, only that he had to say _something_.

"Yes, sire?" came the reply, almost smothered completely by a yawn. It had been a long day, and Merlin just wanted to get back to his room, fall into bed, and go to sleep. He had already gotten the prince ready for bed, and his highness was sitting warmly under the covers, propped up on his plump pillows, and gazing at his manservant with a rather forlorn expression.

"Have you… taken the remains of my dinner back to the kitchens?"

Merlin smirked. "Remains? If I remember right, you scarfed down every last crumb in the first five minutes, Arthur. It's a wonder…"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking pleased to have something to talk about. "Are you trying to imply something, _Mer_lin?" he asked in mock seriousness. "Are you saying I'm… fat?"

Merlin grinned cheekily. "I didn't say anything. You came up with that on your own – OUCH!" he complained, rubbing his right shoulder, where the cup (previously located on Arthur's bedside table) had struck him. "What?" he grumbled.

Arthur laughed. "What were you saying about how much I eat, Merlin?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I just spoke the truth. I gave you your food, turned around to fix the sheets _you_ rumpled –"

"I was tired after training," Arthur almost pouted. "I had to take a nap."

"Yes, on the bed I worked_ so _hard to make this morning."

Arthur grinned. "Come off it, Merlin. You and hard work? Those two things just don't go together."

Merlin's retort was slipping out of his mouth almost as soon as Arthur finished his sentence. "Like Arthur and leftovers don't go together?"

Arthur growled and hefted one of his pillows and Merlin turned to glance at the dining table, grinning. "And yeah, to answer your question, I took your crumb-less plate back to the kitchens when you were at that meeting with your father." He glanced longingly at the door. "Can I go now?"

Arthur bit his lip and his eyes roved around the room, lighting up and resting on the foot of his bed. "My feet are cold," he announced. "Stoke up the fire."

Merlin quirked one dark eyebrow. "It's the middle of summer," he reminded his master. "And besides, you shouldn't need a fire to get warm, you've got—" Arthur glared fiercely at him and Merlin hastily continued, "—covers and stuff to keep… you… warm… What?"

"You were going to say something about insulation, Merlin. I know you were, I could see a gleam in your shifty eyes. This is twice you've called me fat!"

Merlin's eyes widened comically. "I never said you were fat! You said it both times! Have I called you a prat? Yes. Most definitely. But fat? That's your own doing." He grinned smugly.

"So? I can put you in the stocks," Arthur countered. "Do you apologize for calling me… fat?"

Merlin mumbled something that probably wasn't very polite and rolled his eyes. He grinned. "Sure. If it'll ease your mind."

Arthur continued to stare at his servant, as if trying to detect if he was being serious or not. He snorted. Merlin, serious? Almost as ludicrous as Merlin working hard. "Stoke up the fire," he finally decided, although the room was already hot enough as it was.

Merlin shrugged and did as his master said. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. "Will there be anything else?" he asked Arthur, already inching in a supposedly inconspicuous way toward the door.

"It's too _hot_," Arthur mumbled. "You stoked it too much. Put it out."

Merlin gaped. "Put it-? Put it out?" he spluttered indignantly, fetching some water from the bucket kept near the fire and throwing it on. The flames met the water and turned to steam, hissing in protest. Merlin glared. "One of these days you'll make up your mind…"

Arthur countered, "One of these days you'll learn how to talk to a prince."

Merlin inclined his head jokingly. "Sure. When I find one that's not a prat."

Arthur frowned but his eyes were twinkling. "You _really_ are an idiot, aren't you, Merlin?"

Merlin continued grinning for a few seconds but then his face grew serious. "Arthur, why are you doing this?"

Arthur looked nervous for a millisecond but quickly regained his regal composure. "What are you blathering on about this time, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin smiled at his master knowingly. "Making up excuses to keep me here? Every time I start to leave, you come up with something else. What's wrong?"

Arthur looked as if he were going to protest but then his shoulders sagged and he sighed. "I just haven't been able to sleep lately, that's all, Merlin. I dunno what I was thinking, I guess that if I have to suffer and stay awake, you do too…"

Merlin would have been indignant if that were the case, but Arthur's eyes told a different story. He didn't want to be left alone when he couldn't sleep, he wanted company…

Merlin sighed good-naturedly and plopped himself down in one of Arthur's dining chairs. Arthur narrowed his eyes at his servant. "What are you doing?"

"Staying here and talking to you, of course," Merlin grinned, fighting back his own tiredness. "Unless you want me to leave, and then I'll…" He began to get up but Arthur stopped him.

"Nah. You can stay here, talk to me. Even _your_ company is better than none when I'm facing a sleepless night."

Merlin snorted. "Thanks… I think." Pause. "Can I ask _why_ you've not been able to sleep?"

Arthur huffed and fiddled with the hem of his sheets. "I don't know, really," he admitted. "It's just every day it all seems even more real. The fighting, the battles, the fact that I'm going to be king someday…" He sighed. "I know it's stupid, but I worry about the kingdom. About the people. My father is so together and everyone fears – um, I mean, respects him." He frowned, fixing his gaze on a spot on the ceiling. He cringed when the spot started to move. "There's a spider on the ceiling, Merlin."

Merlin blinked at the sudden change of subject. "What do you want me to do about it?" He peered up at the rather large, moving black spot. He whistled. "How big _is _that spider? It's bloody massive."

Arthur snorted. "You're my _servant_, Merlin, get rid of it."

Merlin stared. "How am I supposed to get up there?" he asked irritably.

"Never mind." Arthur stopped watching the spider and instead gazed at the bedcovers.

"Arthur," Merlin began, and when Arthur didn't throw something at him, he took it as a good sign and went back to the previous subject. "I've seen the way you care for your people and what a great warrior you are." He stopped briefly and swallowed. "I know you're going to be a _great_ king, the greatest king Camelot will ever know." He hesitated, not sure if he should continue, and finally deciding that there was no harm in it, added, "And I'll be by your side every step of the way." _Helping you in more ways than you'll ever know…_

Arthur looked at his servant in the eyes for the first time since his confession, his expression unreadable. "I don't think I'll ever understand you, Merlin."

Merlin smiled widely. "Nope, you probably never will."

He expected Arthur to respond with a stinging comeback, but instead, the prince looked thoughtful. "So then… tell me about yourself," he ordered.

Merlin choked on air. "What?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Maybe you _are_ deaf as well as dumb," he murmured irritably. "You've been my servant for close to a year now, but, like you said, I don't know much about you. So tell. Your life can't be any more boring than just sitting here."

Merlin bit his lip, knowing he'd have to be careful what he said. "Well," he began hesitantly, "I'm from Ealdor –"

"That's in Cenred's kingdom," Arthur interjected in surprise. He couldn't believe he'd known Merlin for nearly a year and hadn't even inquired as to where he came from.

Merlin nodded and began to ramble on about the simple life in Ealdor – sleeping on the floor, working in the fields, the excitement around harvest, the way that everyone knew everyone else…

His voice fell into a rhythm and the more Arthur listened, the more his eyes seemed to… droop…

Merlin broke off, having just regaled Arthur with the epic tale of his friend Will's broken wrist after trying to fly by jumping off of Merlin's roof, at a loud snore. He rolled his eyes when he saw that the prince had fallen to sleep, mouth gaping open and loud growling sounds coming from his throat. He shook his head, grinning, as he got up quietly and began to inch toward the door.

Apparently Merlin's life _was_ more boring than just sitting there, he thought ruefully. Then he grinned. Too bad he couldn't tell Arthur about the _really_ interesting stuff…

He peeked around the door at his master and friend one last time before leaving and heading to bed. Someday, when the time was right, Arthur would know everything.

Someday…

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**A/N: Extra points if you caught the Bradley and Colin reference in this one! :D I love our boys! Please review!**

**NEXT TIME – cacospectamania – When someone is burned at the stake, part of Uther wants to turn away, the other part is fascinated.**

**Please review! See ya next time!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	4. Cacospectamania

**A/N: Wow! Eleven reviews for that last one-shot! I'm shocked (and supremely touched!). :D Thank you all for your support – and extra points to CM, fortheloveofcamelot, Nightmare-Naka, Blackpoetry, Literaria, and Dodo.123 for catching the Bradley/Colin moment from season one video diaries. :) Enjoy this one and REVIEW! It's very dark and doesn't exactly have a happy ending, but don't let that stop you from reading it – it takes place near the end of season 3, but before the finale.**

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**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Four: Cacospectamania**

**_cacospectamania,_**_ n.**  
**(ka-kuh-SPEHK-tuh-MAY-nee-uh)  
Obsession with staring at anything repulsive_

He couldn't say how many people he had watched die. How many people he had sent to die. How many people's death he had relished.

It wasn't something that he was proud of – it is never anything to gloat about when a King has to punish his people for not obeying his most sacred law – but it was necessary. He had to keep order.

Today was no exception. A man was being burnt at the stake, a man by the name of Merlin for the worst crime imaginable – sorcery. As the King, Uther Pendragon always watched executions unblinkingly, his face never changing and eyes never leaving the prisoner being killed. It was what was expected of him, what would be expected of his son when he became king someday. The boy would have to toughen up – he had a good heart, that was for certain, but he had a habit of becoming attached to the prisoners.

The prisoners.

That's what Uther thought of them as, nothing less and certainly nothing more. He only knew this man's name because he had been his son's manservant, but also because he had to cite it in his pre-execution address to the people. Otherwise he didn't call those accused by their names, referring to them as "the prisoner" or "the sorcerer" or in special cases "the traitor." That made being harsh but firm about their punishment that much easier.

His son, Prince Arthur, on the other hand, tended to speak to the prisoners, call them by their names, even – it was quite like naming an animal. After you name it, you get attached to it, and when the time comes to burn it at the stake or chop its head off, it's much harder to let it go.

Arthur was now being restrained by at least six guards, still thrashing about like a crazed maniac. Uther had forced him to come to this execution. His son could no longer let his emotions rule him. He needed to be like his father, his king. He needed to block out the suffering of the individuals whose executions were necessary. He needed to see not his supposedly loyal manservant tied to the pyre, about to be burned alive, but a traitor, a piece of garbage, nothing.

Uther had to think of them as nothing but pieces of meat, traitorous sorcerers, because if he looked deep and saw them as people, carrying through with their execution would be difficult. He had hardened himself to the screams of pain, the cries of terror, the wails of heartache. That part of him, the part that still clung on to the few shreds of humanity, of compassion, in his soul, whispered for him to turn away, to not watch the devastation his sentencing caused.

There was a shout from his son behind him. Arthur was yelling something about how the boy, the traitor, had only ever protected Camelot, but that was preposterous. Ludicrous.

He watched as the bottom of the pyre was lit and suddenly his tiny bit of humanity was replaced with the other, stronger side of his being. While the prospect of watching someone burn was disturbing, it also fascinated him, probably to an unhealthy degree. He wasn't a sadist – of course not – but then again, it wasn't _really _a person being sentenced to death, dying by the flames. It was a sorcerer, scum. Nobody.

And so he watched, his ears deafened to his son's howling protests – really, it was quite silly, Arthur getting that bent out of shape over a _servant_ – and listened to the sounds of the flames as they crackled. He watched as the bright fingers of fire ate their way through the wood on the pyre and began to lick the soles of the sorcerer's shoes tauntingly.

The smell of smoke grew stronger, more potent as the material caught fire. Arthur was yelling something else behind him, but Uther wasn't listening. He was listening to the heavy, terrified breaths heaved from the traitor's chest. He didn't see that Arthur nearly threw one of the guards off of the balcony as he struggled. He was watching the fire grow, eating through the thin shoes and beginning to feast on the sorcerer's feet.

That was when the screaming began.

_That has to hurt like hell._

He couldn't watch, but he couldn't look away. He heard the cries of mourning friends in the crowd, the hitched sobs emanating from his out-of-control son's lips. He heard the agonized, tortured, inhuman shrieks tearing relentlessly from the traitor as he convulsed and shrieked. The fire engulfed his legs, then his torso. The smell of burning flesh, nauseating and stimulating, filled the air and Uther fought the urge to blanch.

Suddenly the stench of burning hair poured over the crowd present and it was then that Uther realized that the screams had abated and that the traitor could no longer be seen in the nest of fire encasing his burned corpse.

He was dead.

Arthur threw the guards off, rushed at his father, yelling something about how Merlin had been his best friend, had risked everything to save him.

Merlin. They boy _had_ had a name, hadn't he?

Arthur slammed his fist into Uther's jaw before he was restrained by three more guards. The last words he heard from his son before he was dragged away were, "I will _never_ forgive you for this."

He watched as the flames were doused and he saw the agonized, broken face of his most loyal advisor, Gaius. He remembered Arthur's pleading, yelling, manic protests. They cared for the boy. No, the sorcerer. But why?

He set his jaw, turning away from the pyre and the devastation he had caused by sentencing the sorcerer to death.

It was over, the sorcerer was dead, and all would return to normal. He couldn't help but recall, however, the terror and pain in those screams of the boy – the wizard, the traitor – as he burned alive. _So young… Arthur's age… could have been Arthur… Never forgive me…_

The smell of roasted human flesh washed over him and he all but ran into the castle, leaving the guards and executioner to clean up the mess. It was time to put all this behind him.

Much easier said than done.

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**A/N: I know, right? I've NEVER written a Merlin dies story before and this about tore me apart. Sorry if it was a little graphic but I really wanted to try and capture the essence and horror of actually burning to death. Don't worry, though, it's just for this story! Merlin will be back and ALIVE in the next one-shot lol! Speaking of which…**

**NEXT TIME – cadaverous – Merlin is getting paler and thinner. Arthur doesn't know what's wrong or how to help. He watches as his friend seems to waste away. (Part 1 of 3)**

**Please review, because the more reviews I get, the faster I tend to update, because I get inspired. :) Sorry this one was so depressing (I can't believe I KILLED Merlin! *cries*) but I'd really like to know how it turns out. Also, I've now changed this story's rating from K to T because of this chapter… dark, I know. :P**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	5. Cadaverous

**A/N: Wow, thank you guys so much for all the wonderful feedback on that last one! I was happily surprised by the response! You guys are amazing. :) But never fear – Merlin is alive and will stay alive in this next one! Woohoo! So here's the thing: this is part one of a three-shot, so the next two chapters will be a continuation of this one! Since this one is a reflection and the next two will be actual stories that spawn from it, this will be very short while the remaining parts will be longer and have more dialogue. :) It takes place between the second and third seasons. Please review! :D**

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**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Five: Cadaverous (PART ONE)**

**_cadaverous,_**_ adj.  
(kuh-DAV-russ)  
Emaciated; deathly thin_

Arthur watched in silence as his servant sat on the floor near the hearth, polishing the breastplate of the prince's armor. The rag made a soft squeaking sound every time Merlin rubbed it across the metal. Arthur wasn't sure why Merlin was still scrubbing it; it was spotless and shining. The prince sighed as he observed the younger man.

Merlin had changed.

He didn't know when the change had started and hadn't really noticed until the difference in Merlin until the dark circles under his eyes had become black and the normally skinny serving boy had grown deathly thin. There seemed to be a constant air of sadness and despair around him – Arthur wasn't sure when he had last seen his servant smile one of those genuine, goofy grins he was known for. The prince cursed himself for not noticing sooner, but in his defense, after Morgana had disappeared, he had been upset as well – she was like a sister to him, after all.

"Merlin." Merlin looked up and Arthur was taken aback by the unbridled pain in those blue depths. How could Merlin have been in this much agony and Arthur not have noticed? Now that Merlin was looking straight at him, Arthur sucked in his breath at how sickly the boy appeared.

His face, normally pale, was ghastly white, the nearly transparent skin pulled taut over his prominent cheekbones. Arthur hadn't thought it was possible for the bags under Merlin's weary eyes to grow any blacker, but the ebony shade had deepened – it looked like Merlin was sporting two black eyes. Merlin's ears looked even bigger than ever because of how thin his face had become – they stood out prominently, unnaturally large for the emaciated face. When he spoke his voice was hoarse and sad, thin and reedy. Worry shot through every inch of Arthur's being. "What?"

With a shaking hand, Arthur motioned for Merlin to come closer. "Come here, Merlin." He really hoped his deep rooted concern wasn't _too _evident in his voice. After all, it wouldn't do for Merlin to find out that Arthur really _did_ care about what happened to him. Then again, as he took in his servant's appearance, the crown prince realized that Merlin may have reached a point where what he needed more than anything was Arthur's compassion and concern, a real show of friendship even if Arthur refused to admit, even to himself, that they were indeed friends.

Eyes flickering in confusion, Merlin stood up but stayed where he was, eyeing Arthur warily. Impatiently, Arthur lunged forward and grabbed Merlin's arm, pulling him closer. Arthur gasped when he felt how thin Merlin's arm had become – Arthur could wrap his hand completely around Merlin's bicep. The servant had always been lean, but this was _not_ just a matter of not being muscular. Merlin was skin and bones.

Arthur let his eyes travel slowly across Merlin's stiff frame, eyes widening as he really noticed for the first time how large the ratty shirt he wore was. His belt was cinched as tight as it could go and his clothes were still loose. The ever-present neckerchief swallowed the servant's neck. Arthur bit his lip. He had known that Merlin was more solemn, thinner, and more exhausted than usual, but he had never dreamed that it could have reached this point. Now that he saw Merlin looking so pitiful, so depressed, withdrawn, and dangerously thin, he couldn't help but brutally condemn himself for being so caught up in his own thing that he failed to notice _this_.

Voice shaking, and not even caring that tears were threatening to prick the corners of his normally dry eyes, Arthur heard himself whisper, "Merlin… what happened to you?"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry, a little heavy and depressing, I know, but at least Merlin's alive. :) I just don't think that Merlin should have been able to go through his best friend dying, Arthur accidentally killing his girlfriend, meeting his father and then having him die in his arms the next day, and have to make a decision to poison the girl he once had feelings for and considered his friend without having some sort of big emotional breakdown. You know? :) Stay tuned for part two – speaking of which:**

**NEXT TIME – cantankerous – When Arthur tries to confront Merlin about his feelings, Merlin doesn't want to talk. (Part 2)**

**Please REVIEW! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	6. Cantankerous

**A/N: Wow, 48 reviews for 5 chapters – I'm shocked and touched! You guys are amazing! :) Here's part two of the trilogy… enjoy! And I promise a more light-hearted story after this three-shot… *cackles maniacally* Please enjoy and REVIEW, because I'm a bit of a review junkie… :D**

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**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Six: Cantankerous (PART TWO)**

**_cantankerous,_**_ adj._**_  
_**_(kan-TANG-ker-uhs)  
Disagreeable to deal with; contentious; peevish _

Merlin shrugged his arm out of Arthur's grasp and let his eyes flicker to the floor. "What are you talking about?" he asked softly, wishing his master would just leave him alone and let him finish his chores in peace. He needed the mind-numbing work to keep his mind off things. That's what he told himself, at least, but it was becoming painfully obvious that even polishing Arthur's armor and mucking out the stables didn't do much to keep his mind off of his dark thoughts.

He knew that he was bottling everything up inside and that it could be dangerous to do so, but what else was he supposed to do? He couldn't exactly talk to anyone about it – he'd get his head lobbed off for unloading his troubles on anyone in this kingdom because pretty much everything he was grieving about was enmeshed in magic.

He could talk to Gaius about it, of course, or his mother, but he wouldn't, refused to do that to them. They worried enough about him as it was – if they knew that he was in this much pain… He couldn't allow them to lose sleep over him.

He had a feeling that Gaius suspected something, though – apparently he had changed and Arthur wasn't the first one to comment on his pallid expression and loss of weight. Gaius had been the first, then Gwen, and even a few of the kitchen staff (the kitchen lady, Betty, had literally shoved him in a chair and force fed him a succulent pork stew, bless her). Merlin had managed to put on that smile, the smile that he was known for around here – slightly crooked, extremely dopey, usually disarming. But there was no life behind that smile anymore. He just hoped that no one else knew that, although judging by the way Gaius had raised his eyebrow the last time Merlin had tried "the grin," his guise wasn't as foolproof as he had hoped. Then again, Gaius was no fool.

Neither was Arthur, apparently.

When Merlin drew his eyes off the floor and plastered that one-of-a-kind, all-too-empty smile on his master, the churning emotions in Arthur's eyes just grew more dangerous and his lips curved down another centimeter. "Nice try, Merlin." Merlin noticed that Arthur didn't put stress on the first syllable like he usually did ("_Mer_lin!"), which usually meant Arthur was distracted, worried, or sad. Perhaps all three. "I've known you for nearly three years now. I know you well enough to realize when you're sincere and when you're not. So talk."

* * *

Arthur couldn't believe what an idiot Merlin could be sometimes – actually, he could, but in this case Merlin's idiocy reached new bounds. How could he possibly think that just by forcing himself to smile and lying through his teeth would make Arthur believe he was fine? Arthur could see right through his mask, and even if he couldn't – although it would take someone even more stupid than Merlin not to see that the servant was faking it – the drastic shift in his actions and appearance should be clue enough.

He watched as Merlin's false grin faltered and his eyes found the floor again. Unconsciously the boy reached behind his head with one hand and rubbed the back of his neck. Arthur could feel the emotions rolling off of his servant – anxiety, fear, and more angst than anyone as carefree and friendly as Merlin should ever have to face. Again, he spoke. "Nothing, Arthur. It's nothing. I'm… fine."

Arthur crossed his arms over his muscular chest, trying to hold back the worry that he knew was warring for dominance over irritation in his blue eyes. It was then that he noticed Merlin swaying where he stood. Instantly, Arthur was at his side, lowering him down onto the floor and allowing the wavering manservant to lean against the wall. The worry intensified, rebelling against his composure and trying to shove the other emotions out of the way for dominance.

Merlin sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. Arthur knew that he wasn't about to say anything unless prompted – Merlin was stupendously stubborn for someone of his unimpressive stature – so he urged the young man to speak by asking a question. "Haven't you been eating?"

Merlin laughed bitterly. "You won't believe how many times I've heard that question today."

Arthur glared at him. Merlin was purposely avoiding the question. "Well, have you? Because when you're as thin and frail –"

"Hey!" Merlin interjected indignantly and Arthur could see the ghost of smile lines on Merlin's face, but only for one fleeting second, and then the moment was gone…

"—as you are anyway, let alone now, I'm not surprised everyone's been asking about your diet!"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

Arthur stared him down. "Answer. The. Question. Now."

His servant grimaced, "I've been eating. Not as much as usual, I guess, but I just don't feel like eating the way I used to." He clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening as if he had just said something incriminating. Maybe he had.

Arthur looked him up and down. "Why not? Are you sick?"

Merlin smiled humorlessly and tried to sound sarcastic although it was painfully obvious he was just trying to distract Arthur with banter. "Are you actually _worried_ about me, Arthur?"

"Shut up, Merlin. Stop changing the subject. Now I want you to answer – why haven't you been eating enough? Why are you so pale? And why do you always look so _sad_?" Arthur blinked as he realized that the lack of cheerfulness on Merlin's face bothered him just as much, if not more, than the weight loss. Merlin was such a happy person – he loved life, and even though he could be a pessimist, he was a cheerful pessimist, no matter how much of an oxymoron that may be.

Merlin stood up, wavered for a moment, and snapped, "I'm _fine_, Arthur. And what do you care? You're a prince, I'm just a servant. You remind me of that enough."

Arthur winced, remembering the exchange that had happened between he and his servant in the inn when they went to search for Balinor. _I know I'm a prince, so we can't be friends…_

As Merlin angrily stormed – well, _stumbled_ would be a more accurate representation – from the prince's chambers, obviously beyond reason. No one was supposed to walk out on their prince, their master like that. But Arthur wasn't angry. He was just sad that Merlin was suffering and didn't feel he could tell Arthur about it. Maybe he was even a bit _hurt_ that Merlin didn't want to trust him with whatever it was.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Arthur went about getting himself ready for training, resolving that he would go to Merlin's room – yes, he was actually going to seek a _servant_ out, heaven help him – and try to convince Merlin that whatever secrets he was harboring, whatever pain was devouring him, he didn't have to do it alone.

It seemed it had reached a point where appearances didn't matter. Arthur could pretend he didn't care, pretend Merlin wasn't really his closest friend – and let Merlin become lost to his own pain in the process. _Or_ he could take on the challenge of actually trying to be a friend to the distraught boy and pray that it wasn't too late to pull him out of the despair.

He shook his head wearily as he left his rooms and strode in the direction of the training field, wondering when exactly Merlin had become so difficult to deal with. He chuckled – Merlin had always been hard to deal with. Merlin's welfare hadn't been directly infused with his stubbornness in the past, though. Arthur somehow knew that if anyone was going to get through to Merlin, it would have to be him. It wasn't exactly a responsibility he wanted but it was one he was willing to shoulder nonetheless.

For Merlin.

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**A/N: Hopefully part two was to your satisfaction! :) Tune in next chapter for…**

**NEXT TIME – despondency (part 3) – Arthur goes to Merlin as a friend and Merlin tells the truth. Sort of.**

**REVIEW! :D**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	7. Despondency

**A/N: I'm sorry about the long wait – I know a lot of you are probably ready to kill me since my updates for this story usually don't take up to six days. But never fear, part three is here. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story – you are just fantabulous. :) Please review part 3 and I'll have the next story up as soon as I can. XD And as I've said before, this is meant to be friendship. You can interpret it however you want, but friendship is what this was written to be. :D And be prepared, it's a long one... but in my opinion, one of the best so far and worth the read. You'll be the judges of that, though - so please review! :)**

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**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Seven: Despondency (PART THREE)**

**_despondency,_**_ n._**_  
_**_(dih-SPON-duhn-see)  
Depression of spirits from loss of courage or hope; dejection_

Arthur was exhausted by the time training was over. He had worked the knights harder than he had in a long time and by the time they were done, everyone was bone-tired. None of them complained – they rarely ever did – but that probably had something to do with the fact that they had come to learn that whenever Arthur worked them this hard, there was something weighing heavily on his mind. And since Merlin, who usually tagged along – sometimes just to set things up, even more often than not to be the target – was nowhere to be found, most of the men had probably realized that whatever was upsetting their prince had something to do with the clumsy, outrageously loyal servant.

The only thing that Arthur did before going to the physician's chambers to find Merlin's whereabouts was have a twitchy, nervous young servant help him out of his armor. As soon as the armor was off, he dismissed the boy and made his way to Gaius's chambers. He couldn't get that look in Merlin's eyes out of his head. Merlin had looked so sad, lonely, almost defeated. And that scared Arthur.

For reasons he was at a loss to explain, Arthur felt nervous as he made his way – making sure not to walk too fast although in actuality he wanted to break off into a sprint to try and shake off some of the nerves he was feeling – through the corridor. It felt strange heading to this part of the castle without having a wound or sickness that needed to be taken care of by Gaius or without the intention of calling Merlin an idiot and finding out why he was late for work. He knew that he was doing the right thing, going to Merlin not as demanding Arthur, but as… as a friend, but the idea was still daunting. What right did he have to be Merlin's friend, to ask what was wrong with him? Arthur normally didn't give Merlin's troubles the time of day, and now he was going to try and make – no, not make, _ask_ – Merlin to open up to him?

Shaking his head in irritation at himself, Arthur was partially relieved and also a bit apprehensive when he reached the Court Physician's chambers. He stood before the door, staring blankly at the peeling wood as he realized that he had no idea how he was going to go about this. He had never approached someone – certainly not a _servant_ – with the intent of talking to them as a friend. He had never had many _real_ friends. Only those people that wanted to use his status and power to their advantage and sucked up to him in order to do so. He scowled. Bootlickers. He couldn't stand the thought of them now that he'd met Merlin.

Merlin, the one person that, despite his non-existent rank, never failed to tell Arthur how he felt and didn't back down. Merlin, the clumsy fool who couldn't put one foot in front of the other without nearly causing the castle to collapse on top of him, but would occasionally offer up a kind of wisdom that Arthur couldn't find in men twice his age. Merlin, the man that usually emanated good cheer, who smiled in the worst situation. Merlin, who was now so sullen and depressed that Arthur felt as if Merlin was no longer Merlin. Merlin, whose eyes, once so full of life, were now bleeding a sorrow that Arthur couldn't comprehend.

_That _was why he was going to find Merlin. That was why he was going to talk to him, to _ask _him to open up, to tell him the truth. Otherwise he feared that the old, cheerful and obnoxious Merlin would be forever replaced by this automaton, and that was something he didn't even want to consider.

Arthur took a deep breath and knocked on Gaius's door. Only a few seconds passed when Gaius opened the door, looking surprised and a bit relieved to see Arthur standing rather nervously on the threshold. "Sire."

Arthur cleared his throat. "Is Merlin here?" he asked, biting his tongue as he almost added on, purely out of habit, something about how the lazy idiot hadn't been at work almost all day.

Gaius sighed. "Yes, Sire. He is in his room, but I can't get him to speak to me. I must admit, it troubles me to see him this way, Arthur. He's never been this withdrawn before, especially from me."

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his weary face and cast a glance at the door behind which Merlin was apparently giving the world the silent treatment. "Do you have any idea what's bothering him, Gaius? He just stormed off today – I've not seen anything like it from him before."

A faraway look stole into Gaius's expression and Arthur knew then that Gaius had a _very_ good idea of what was hurting Merlin but didn't want to tell Arthur – maybe he didn't feel it was his place to tell Arthur about what Merlin was going through or maybe he felt that he couldn't trust the prince. The latter thought stung but he shrugged it off. Gaius hesitated but finally responded, "Merlin has been through a lot lately, Sire. He is hurting more than you know. I do not know what information he will divulge to you – and it is not my place to do so – but what he needs now more than anything is a…" he trailed off, almost as if afraid to suggest what was on his mind.

Arthur already knew what he was trying to say and finished the sentence. "A friend." He offered the surprised old man a soft smile and nodded. "I know." It was his time to hesitate. "Can I come in, Gaius?"

Gaius looked startled but nodded mutely. "Of course, Sire." As Arthur nodded his thanks and moved across the small chambers to Merlin's even smaller room, Gaius added, "And Sire?" Arthur turned, eyebrows raised, looking every bit the prince he was.

"Yes, Gaius?"

Gaius smiled sadly. "Good luck."

* * *

Merlin was sitting on his bed, shoulders hunched, head down when Arthur slowly, quietly eased the door open and stepped into the small room. He had only been in here a handful of times, and each time it was because he was searching for something – once when his father had ordered the whole of the castle be searched and another when Merlin had been accused of sorcery by the Witchfinder. This was the first time that Arthur had ever been in here for any reason other than that and it struck him once more how _tiny_ the room was.

Merlin didn't even look up when he heard someone enter but hunched his shoulders more and shifted his upper body so he was facing away from the door. "Gaius – I really don't want to talk," he murmured. "I'm fine."

Arthur snorted, "Oh really? Because you look like you're skipping out on work to me." Arthur bit his lip, cursing his insensitive words but they just seemed to slip out of his mouth naturally – sarcasm was the easiest way to speak to Merlin. It didn't involve any emotions or _feelings_ or other awkward subjects at all.

Even as he spoke, Merlin jumped about a foot in the air and scrambled to his feet. "Sire." When he looked at his master, Arthur was shocked to see tear tracks down his face even though his eyes were dry. He swallowed, remembering Gaius's warning that Merlin was hurting more than Arthur could know.

"Merlin." How on _earth_ did he manage to get himself into these ridiculously awkward situations? Arthur hated talking about girlish things like feelings with anyone, but Merlin was by far the most awkward to discuss them with.

They both started talking at the same time, Arthur bursting out, "I need to talk to you, Merlin," and Merlin stammering, "I'm sorry about running off earlier."

They both broke off, staring at each other. Arthur took control of the situation, one thing he was comfortable with, at least. "Me first," he said authoritatively, expecting Merlin to tease him, rebuke him, _something_ but Merlin simply nodded sullenly and sat down, deep blue eyes meeting the tops of his worn-out boots.

Arthur sighed. This was going to be even more difficult than he thought. "Can I… sit down?"

The first sign of anything other than sadness showed on Merlin's unnaturally pale face – shock. "Are you okay, Arthur? You're _asking_ me if you can sit – you _are _the prince, after all. You can do whatever you want." He didn't sound bitter or angry, just resigned.

Arthur slowly sunk down at the other end of the bed, tapping his fingers awkwardly on the shabby baseboard. _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Finally, he turned to Merlin, who was staring at him curiously. "Merlin, I'm not angry with you for charging off this morning. I – I'm…" he struggled to admit the truth, "a bit… concerned for your health," he managed formally, sounding more like an indifferent physician than a concerned master or worried friend. Merlin cocked an eyebrow, so dark in contrast to Merlin's nearly translucent skin.

"I told you, Sire, I'm fine."

"Arthur," Arthur found himself blurting out before he could stop himself. Merlin stared. "I'm not here as a prince, Merlin. I'm here… as Arthur. Merlin, I would never in a million years tell you this before today, but you're scaring me." There. He had said it. Merlin was scaring the life out of him. He hadn't realized just how much until he had finally admitted it out loud, like he had just admitted it to himself.

Merlin snorted. "Scaring _you_?" he asked in a somewhat mocking tone. "The great Arthur Pendragon? Doubtful."

Arthur felt a tendril of annoyance creep into him but he tried to push it away. Merlin was hurting; upset, he reminded himself. "Merlin," he said in the calmest voice he could muster, "you don't know how hard it is for me to say this, so could you please save your cynicism for another time?"

Maybe it came out more agitated – or worried – than he had intended because Merlin's mouth opened a fraction and he just stared at Arthur, almost dumbfounded. Arthur took advantage of the blessed silence to speak his mind before he lost his nerve or regained his mind.

"Merlin – you look like _hell_," he commented, holding up a hand when an almost-indignant Merlin started to protest. "Let me finish, Merlin," the prince growled. "You have been moping about for who knows how long, you've lost so much weight that you don't even look like yourself anymore, and look at you – your skin is so pale you could be dead! And your eyes – Merlin, I have never seen such a look of desperation before. You look like you have died inside. You're obviously hurting, you're holding it all inside, and you are going to lose your mind before this is over if you don't _talk to me!_" Arthur yelled the last three words, a lump in his throat forming as he tried to convey to Merlin how important it was for Merlin to open up.

He jumped to his feet, as if he was trying to escape from the emotion and began to pace – not that he could pace more than a few steps in either direction because of the meager size of the room. "What could _possibly _be so terrible for you that you lose the will to eat? To smile? To live?"

Merlin's eyes twitched off the ground and he glared at Arthur. There was some emotion, at least, Arthur realized. Maybe all wasn't lost. "I haven't lost the will to live, Arthur. Don't be stupid." At the disrespectful retort, Merlin lowered his eyes again and bit his lip.

Arthur felt the rage bubbling up inside of him but it wasn't because of Merlin's words but rather because of his sheer stubbornness. "No, Merlin," Arthur seethed, causing Merlin to jump slightly and meet his eyes warily. "No, Merlin, _you_ don't be stupid. Because what you're doing now – walking around the castle like a ghost, growing paler and thinner by the minute, refusing to smile, to laugh, refusing to be your annoying, bumbling, idiotic self, always going around with your eyes more lifeless than the grave – that's _not_ living. So don't tell me you haven't lost the will to live. You may still be alive, Merlin, but you are not _living._ So don't give me those lies."

With shaking hands, Arthur erratically shoved his hand through his hair, wincing as he realized how dirty and sweaty his blonde hair was. He had been in such a rush to confront Merlin he hadn't bathed or changed clothes or anything. The rest of him wasn't much better – he was dirty, sweaty, and smelly. But he didn't care. He plopped down beside Merlin again, who was looking at Arthur with an unreadable expression.

"Merlin, I meant what I said. You are scaring me." Arthur laughed humorlessly, almost bitterly, wildly. "No. Scratch that – you are scaring the _hell_ out of me. This isn't you, Merlin. I've never seen you behave like this before. What happened to the Merlin that loves life more than anyone I've ever seen? What happened to the Merlin that takes every opportunity he can to poke fun at me? What happened to the Merlin that always has some insanely, out of place, wise advice to give at the most crucial times? What happened to the Merlin that I know, my…" his breath caught in his throat. Could he really admit it out loud? He saw Merlin's questioning, depressed, withdrawn, deathlike face and he knew. His pride be damned. Merlin needed him. "What happened to my _friend_?"

The look on Merlin's face was most definitely worth it. He went from being confused to shocked to touched and then disbelieving, finally to a mixture of them all. Arthur might have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. "Your… friend?"

Arthur grunted and stared at his grimy hands, suddenly more self-conscious than he had ever been before. "I've said it once – don't make me repeat myself, you deaf idiot."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Merlin's face. "Thank you, Arthur. You don't know…" he choked, eyes glistening as he fought to keep his composure. "You don't know how much that means to me."

Arthur nodded, meeting Merlin's eyes and saw the pure, raw emotion – sadness, guilt, anxiety, anger, and maddening, unrelenting _pain_ – swirling in the azure depths. "Merlin, I can't stand to see you like this. It's maddening. This isn't you. But if you continue to hide whatever is causing you this much pain, you're going to continue to die slowly inside. Alone. Is that what you want?"

Merlin bit his lip and looked away. Arthur wondered if he'd gone too far and prevented Merlin from talking at all. But a moment later Merlin answered, "I don't want to be alone anymore, Arthur. That's just it."

Arthur wasn't sure what Merlin was talking about, but at least he was talking, so he went with it. "What do you mean, Merlin? You're not alone. You've got Gaius, Gwen, Mo—" he broke off, suddenly remembering that Merlin didn't have Morgana anymore. None of them did. She was missing, taken by Morgause. Perhaps alive. Perhaps not. Arthur felt the familiar pain associated with the girl that had become akin to his sister return and could see from the way Merlin averted his gaze and scrubbed at his eyes that her name struck a chord for Merlin too. "And me," Arthur quickly amended. "Not alone."

Merlin met Arthur's eyes again. "Yes, Arthur," he whispered. "Very alone."

Arthur didn't understand and told Merlin so.

Merlin shook his head sadly. "Arthur – thank you. But you don't understand—"

"No, I don't, you moron, that's what I just said!" Arthur exploded, done with Merlin's evasiveness. "But you know what, Merlin? I'm never going to understand if you don't get over your blasted stubbornness and idiotic determination to face life without anyone to help you! _That's _why you're alone – you won't let anyone in, won't allow anyone to help you. It's _your_ choice whether or not you are alone or not. You have people that _want_ to be there for you, but you don't acknowledge them. It's _your _choice!"

"_NO, it's not!"_ Merlin exploded, leaping to his feet and spinning on Arthur, the raging emotion in his voice taking Arthur completely off-guard. "I don't _want _to be alone, Arthur. But I am alone, and I always will be! Because every single person that understands, who I become close to, who I think that maybe – just _maybe_ – will make me not be alone again, is gone. Dead! Everyone I grow close to, dead… gone… Arthur, you cannot possibly imagine how it is to lose the only people that can ever even begin to relate to you! I _am_ alone, Arthur, and I always will be."

Arthur stood in stunned silence. "Merlin," he whispered. "What are you talking about? Who died?"

Merlin laughed bitterly. "Oh, you've already forgotten, have you? What about the man that saved your life? My friend Will? In Ealdor?"

Arthur winced. That had been three years ago, it hadn't even crossed his mind that Merlin would still be grieving about the loss of his friend – a sorcerer, nonetheless. His thoughts must have been reflected in his eyes because Merlin recoiled, as if wounded.

"Will was a good man no matter what magic he may or may not have possessed. He saved your life."

"I remembered," Arthur protested weakly. "I just didn't… realize that his death was still so fresh."

Merlin glared at his master, his friend, for a few more seconds before shaking his head. "It's not. I still miss him. A lot. But… there's more. But I can't tell you, Arthur. I'm sorry. I wish I could. I _really _don't want to be alone but I don't have a choice."

Arthur was even more lost at Merlin's cryptic response. What could possibly be so bad that he felt he couldn't tell Arthur, who had just swallowed every ounce of his pride – something he was loathe to do and had come to him as a friend? "Merlin. You're not as strong as you apparently think you are. I'm sorry, Merlin, but it's the truth. You'll go mad if you try to go through this alone. Please. Is it about Morgana's disappearance? Was there… more to your relationship than met the eye? I know you fancy her. Did she return your feelings?" As hard as it was for Arthur to bring up the missing girl, Arthur decided that he was done being subtle. Merlin _had _to talk to him or Arthur would lose him to his own mind.

Merlin's eyes grew wide and his face even paler and he shook his head frantically. "No, no… Arthur, it wasn't like that… I… _please_, just leave it alone, Arthur." Arthur wasn't sure what to believe but the subject of Morgana affected Merlin far more and far differently than Arthur had suspected. He could see that Merlin was telling the truth – there hadn't been any forbidden relationship between the two – but there was something else associated with Morgana that was tearing Merlin apart.

He was about to protest, to demand to know what it was about Morgana that caused him such pain when Merlin interrupted. "Someday, Arthur. I promise. I'll tell you – but this is something that I haven't even come to terms with myself. I can't talk about it. I have to deal with it myself before I burden anyone else with it. I _can't_ talk about it now. _I can't_." He was so frantic that Arthur found himself agreeing outwardly even whilst protesting inside.

"Fine. But Merlin, you said that everyone that understood you, nearly everyone you cared for, has died. I don't understand. Who could you have lost? And when…?" A sudden thought struck him. "Your mother, is she—"

Merlin looked touched by Arthur's concern. "Arthur, my mother is fine. She just can't possibly begin to understand the way my father would have." The last few words were so quiet that Arthur wondered if he had heard wrong. Especially since not too long ago, Merlin had confided in Arthur that he had never met his father.

"Hang on – you told me when we were on our way to find out what Morgause knew about my mother, you told me you'd never met your father and that your mother never spoke of him."

Merlin took a deep breath and a tear trickled down his cheek. "My father… I met him."

Arthur was stunned. When had this happened? And _why_ hadn't Merlin told him about it? And judging by Merlin's reaction, the end results of meeting his father hadn't been good. "When…?" he let his voice trail off, knowing Merlin would understand the unspoken rest of the question.

Merlin's eyes filled with fear for a few seconds and then his shoulders slumped. "When the Great Dragon was attacking Camelot. I met him and he died in my arms the very next day."

Arthur was confused for the briefest of moments before the truth dawned upon him. He swallowed heavily, realizing the implications of what Merlin had just told him. _Merlin was the son of a Dragonlord. If Uther ever found out, Merlin would be dead. And Arthur probably hadn't been the one to defeat the dragon…_

He closed his eyes as the thoughts washed over him. He didn't care that Merlin was the son of a Dragonlord. He couldn't choose his parentage. Uther wouldn't find out, because Merlin wasn't going to die for something he had no choice in. And now wasn't the time to question whether or not Arthur was the hero he had thought himself to be when Merlin had told him that he had dealt the beast a mortal blow. Right now, the biggest news was that Merlin had lost his father right after meeting him, had had his father die in his arms, and had dealt with it virtually alone. Perhaps Gaius had known, but he had a feeling that what Merlin had just told him wasn't something Merlin liked to talk about.

The servant in question was shaking slightly as he waited for Arthur's verdict. Arthur swallowed again and slowly, hesitantly reached out and placed a strong hand on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin flinched and met Arthur's gaze. "Arthur – if your father finds out that Balinor was my father, he'll have me killed…"

Arthur shook his head, his heart breaking for Merlin. He had had _no_ idea of what Merlin had been going through and hadn't even noticed the effects of his grief until it was almost too late. How he had convinced Merlin to tell him this – especially something this dangerous, even if Arthur had no intention of telling anyone that Merlin was the son of a Dragonlord – he still wasn't sure. "I'm so, so sorry, Merlin," he murmured.

Merlin apparently misunderstood Arthur's apology and thought that he was saying sorry for what he was about to do. He scrambled to his feet, panicked. "Arthur – please. I – I couldn't help who my father was. I didn't—"

Arthur grabbed Merlin's scarily thin arm and pulled him back down. "Merlin, don't be stupid – I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm just… so sorry you had to go through it. Alone."

Merlin's eyes were cloudy but he smiled weakly. "I didn't. Not really. Gaius tried to help, but he…" Merlin shook his head.

Arthur understood that there was only so much Merlin could tell to his guardian. As caring as Gaius was, he couldn't understand exactly what Merlin was going through. Arthur couldn't either, not really, but he hadn't been there at all for Merlin when it had happened – for heaven's sake, he had told Merlin that Balinor wasn't worth his tears! – but he resolved he would be there now.

Merlin's voice got even quieter. "And there was Freya."

Arthur didn't say anything at first. The way Merlin spoke the name, Freya, was wrought with grief and love and reverence and guilt. Arthur eventually found his voice. "Who was Freya?"

Merlin turned his head away. "Freya… was special." He didn't elaborate and his voice was slightly strangled.

Arthur took this in. He tried to figure out when Merlin could have had a special someone, but Merlin had never spoken of a woman to Arthur. But the truth was obvious. "You loved her."

Merlin nodded his head. "She was so beautiful, Arthur. Her eyes were dark but not the kind of dark that scares you – the kind of dark that offers peace and reassurance. And her hair was so long and dark… And when she smiled…" The wistful tone vanished, replaced by resigned sadness. "She had a hard past, more difficult than you would believe. She was an outcast, no one wanted her. But she was so kind, so understanding, she was like me… And she died." Merlin choked on a sob he seemed determined not to let past his defenses.

Arthur winced. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if Guinevere died – and Merlin had obviously cared for this Freya girl a great, great deal. Hesitantly, Arthur queried, "How did she die?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer but Merlin needed to get this out.

Merlin was quiet for a long time. Seconds passed, then minutes. Finally, when Arthur thought he was going to have to repeat the question, Merlin responded, "She was killed."

Arthur frowned, angry that someone had done this to Freya and by extension, Merlin. "She was murdered." It wasn't a question but Merlin answered anyway. And the answer was surprising.

"No. She wasn't. She was killed by a man with good intentions. A man who only saw her as a threat, who was trying to protect those that he loved. He… he didn't realize that behind her appearance, there was a beautiful human who loathed to hurt anyone, anything… She was killed by a good man who was only trying to do what was best. And I don't hold any resentment against him whatsoever." The way Merlin was looking at Arthur, a strange sense of peace simply radiating out of his previously distraught form, served to unnerve and comfort Arthur.

Arthur wasn't sure what Merlin's strange, disjointed story meant. There seemed to be a lot missing but as he opened his mouth to inquire about the missing piece, Merlin smiled – genuinely, this time. Arthur felt a joy, an elation fill him to the brim. Merlin was _smiling._

"You were right, Arthur. It still hurts – bad, but I see now that if I never talk about it, it'll only make it worse."

Arthur was torn between further exploring Merlin's odd tale and leaving it for the time being. He smiled slightly in return, deciding that perhaps it was another story for another day. Right now, Merlin was looking more at peace than he had in a long time and Arthur wasn't going to question it or bring back painful subjects. Maybe later, like when they had that talk about Morgana…

Arthur grinned, then looked Merlin up and down, realizing that even though he was smiling a genuine smile, he was still deathly pale and extremely thin. His grin faltered and Merlin squirmed under the scrutinizing gaze. "What?" he almost whined.

Arthur gave him "the look" and Merlin clamped his mouth shut, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Arthur stared his servant down for a little while longer before addressing the problem at hand. "Now that you realize that you can tell me when something is, I don't know, _tearing you apart inside_, I hope that we will _never_ have this little problem again." Merlin nodded, almost looking guilty. Almost. Arthur continued, "And you will never – _ever_ – let it get to a point where you aren't eating. Do you understand, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin nodded again. Arthur grinned again, this time a bit wickedly as he slipped almost seamlessly back into "prince mode" and into their usual relationship that he realized he had missed while Merlin had been so melancholy. "Now, _Mer_lin, you are going to go to the kitchens, tell Betty that I requested my dinner _early_ and that I am hungrier than a bear so I want _double _the food I normally get. And then you are going to take it to my chambers, where you will sit and _eat_ until I am satisfied that you are no longer in danger of getting blown away by a gust of the wind. And you will _not_ leave the table until you have eaten it. Is. That. Understood."

Merlin cringed. "Double?" he said weakly. "Arthur, that's a lot of food…"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Well, then, if you'd rather skip a dinner more luxurious than you have ever had in your life – or ever will again, for that matter, then so be it. Since you ran out on me this morning, I have _triple_ the work for you. My horses need mucked and groomed, my _dogs_ need fed, my _room_ needs cleaning, my _clothes_ need washing, my _armor_ needs polishing after that _exhausting training_—"

Merlin interrupted, his expression bordering on horrified. "On second thought," he announced, "I'm starved, let's eat!" Arthur clipped him upside the head and Merlin grumbled before wrinkling his nose. "On one condition, though – you let me draw you a bath before I eat. I do _not_ want to have to force myself to eat when you smell like _that_, thank you very much!"

Arthur was about to make a sarcastic response but caught a whiff of his mud and sweat soaked body and nodded wearily. "Deal."

Merlin laughed and the two left the room and walked side by side through the physician's chambers, finally at peace. Just before he followed Merlin out the door, Gaius caught Arthur's eye and mouthed, _Thank you._

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement and hurried to catch up with Merlin, feeling more optimistic than he could have dreamed this discussion with his servant would make him feel.

Little did he know, Merlin, a few paces ahead, was thinking along the same lines. In fact, Merlin was also reveling in the way Arthur had accepted the fact that Balinor was his father. It gave him hope – hope than when the time came for him to tell Arthur the truth – the _full_ truth – that Arthur would be open-minded.

For the first time in a long time, Merlin felt confidence that he was doing the right thing in pursuing the destiny that the Great Dragon had told him about. Suddenly, the future of Camelot and Albion with Arthur as king became a plausible reality.

For the first time in a long time, Merlin was happy – genuinely, wonderfully happy. Even though his heart still ached for those he had lost, he was no longer alone. And that was the most wonderful realization that he had ever had.

* * *

**A/N: See, I didn't end it on _that_ sad of a note, although I did find myself crying as I wrote the chapter… Very long, I know. And I know that I mainly focused on Arthur's POV but I really wanted to portray his reaction to what Merlin said and try to show Merlin's feelings through Arthur's thoughts, if that makes any sense. :) Please review and I'm so sorry I made you guys wait. XD**

**NEXT TIME – (and I have to break up the word because if I don't, fanfiction dot net will think it's spam) hippo-poto-monstroses-quipedalio-phobia – A sorcerer casts a spell on Uther that causes him to be terrified of words with more than two syllables. **

**Please REVIEW! :D I'll update soon! **

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	8. Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia

**A/N: Wow, thank you guys so much for the incredible response to the last chapter! I'm glad that the final part of the 'trilogy' was to your satisfaction. :) We've had four serious stories in a row so now it's time to have a little fun – at Uther's expense. :D Enjoy. And please review! XD**

**I think it's so weird how the word is so big and it's the fear of big words. In another of my stories, I wrote a short little dialogue that portrays the irony of this and that inspired this little tale:**

**RANDOM PERSON #1: **What are you afraid of?  
**RANDOM PERSON #2: **I'm afraid of big words. I'm a hippo-pot-o-monstrooooaaaaahhhhh! Help, help, it's a big word! Save me!  
**RANDOM PERSON #1****: **Wow. You're afraid of your own phobia. Now that's deep.

**Such a silly word! XD**

**Oh, and remember, I had to break up the word with hyphens because it's so long fanfiction dot net thinks it's spam otherwise. Lol. This takes place sometime during early season three and in this story, Arthur already knows about Merlin's magic and is keeping it a secret from his daddy. :) This is a very silly story, hopefull it won't be too silly for your liking. XD Let me know what you think and revel in the irony. **

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Eight: Hippopoto-monstroses-quipedalio-phobia **

**_hippopoto-monstroses-quipedalio-phobia, _**_n.**  
**(HIH-puh-PAH-tuh-MAHN-struh-SEHS-kwu-puh-DAY-lee-uh-FOH-bee-uh)  
A fear of long words_

Morgana stood over the ornate, four-poster bed, grinning ear-to-ear as she held the glowing stone over the head of her guardian, King Uther Pendragon. She had been down since having returned to Camelot and although their last plan had failed, she and her sister, Morgause, had come up with a new one.

Now, this plan wasn't anything particularly malicious or even dangerous. Not really. But Morgause and her little friend Cenred were off scheming while Morgana was stuck in Camelot, so Morgause had given the small, light purple stone to Morgana the last time they had met up in the woods. It wouldn't cause any lasting damage and would more than likely wear off in a few days, but it would at least give Morgana some measure of entertainment while she was waiting for a new, more _sinister _plan to unfold.

Smirking – she tended to smirk a lot, lately – she whispered, "_H__élade c__ásusas __ábarian Uther __ácol_," barely managing to keep from bursting out into giggles as she did so. She could hardly _wait _until the next day, when she knew that she, along with everyone in the royal court, would get to witness the effects of her magic.

It was going to be brilliant.

* * *

Uther woke up feeling rather odd. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was this weird… sensation that seemed to be hovering over him. He had no idea if he was imagining it or if there was indeed some sort of aura of strangeness floating around him, just waiting to take hold. He shook his head off at the odd thought and pushed it out of his slightly befuddled mind. He had many meetings with the council today but planned to begin his day with breakfast with his son, Prince Arthur and oh-so-very-loving-and-not-scheming-in-the-slightest ward, Morgana.

His servant, a tall, rather spindly middle-aged man named Norton knocked on the door and eased into the bedroom. He looked nervous about being in the king's presence even though he had been working for Uther for nearly four years. That was the way the king liked it though. He kept his servants on their toes, unlike his son, who seemed to have become rather close to his servant. Melvin? Marlin? Ralph? Or was it something more exotic, like Jethro? Or maybe Colin? Honestly, Uther couldn't remember and didn't really care to. The boy got on his nerves, always right by his son's side, behaving like he was close to Arthur, closer than society would allow.

Arthur wasn't supposed to be friends with his servants and servants weren't supposed to be friends with their masters. That was something he intended to bring up to his son after breakfast this morning. He had been meaning to talk to Arthur about it for a while now but hadn't gotten around to it. Norton's rather nervous behavior had reminded him and he made a mental note to bring up the subject of Melvin – he was pretty sure it was Melvin – later on.

"My Lord," Norton said, bowing deeply. "I was told by the kitchen staff that you are planning on having breakfast with Prince Arthur and Morgana in your throne roo…" He trailed off looking completely bewildered as he witnessed the strangest thing he had ever seen his king do. It was almost as drastic as when he had somehow become enchanted by a mandrake root to think his dead wife was in a well – and that had been totally unnerving.

Uther's face went completely white and his eyes developed a faraway gaze. He opened his mouth and let out a scared little whimper. "My Lord?" Norton asked hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

Uther could barely hear his servant over the raw terror, irrational as it was, coursing through his entire being at the man's words. _Morgana._ He wasn't afraid of his ward, no. But of the sheer _size_ of her name. Mor-ga-na. He shuddered. Dreadful, absolutely terrifying.

* * *

Arthur sat across from his father and next to Morgana at the large dining room table, covered with a vast array of luxurious foods. Merlin was standing against the wall, head tilted down, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of the perfect servant – but Arthur knew better. Merlin was a bumbling, annoying idiot who also happened to be an extremely powerful, insanely loyal warlock who spent his time protecting Arthur and the kingdom from magical threats. His father's servant, Norton, stood against the other wall. Arthur was baffled to see the middle aged man casting concerned glances at Uther every so often. It was odd – normally Norton was the still, calm, obedient servant and _Mer_lin was the twitchy one.

Arthur glanced at Morgana to see if she had noticed anything out of the ordinary and realized that she seemed to be smirking. She did that a lot lately – funnily enough, Arthur hadn't noticed until _after _Merlin had informed him that she was his evil half sister. Now, every time he looked at her she was smirking and it was grinding on his nerves! It was so difficult to pretend like nothing was wrong, like her pretty face wasn't twisted in a sinister smile every single second of the day. He wondered briefly if she had spit in Uther's food. The way she was smirking suggested that she wasn't up to something evil, just ludicrously amusing. He wondered what that could be.

Taking a bite of cheese, Arthur said to his father, "I was thinking about going hunting later, Father." He could almost feel Merlin's despair at the news – Merlin _hated _hunting. Which was one of the main reasons Arthur had decided to go. Just because Merlin was an all-powerful warlock with a great destiny didn't mean he could weasel himself out of his duties. He couldn't do anything about it or get revenge by turning Arthur into a toad or something – Uther would probably notice if his son was four inches tall, green, and covered with warts and slime. Probably.

Then again, he was looking rather distracted this morning so he might not have noticed if Merlin did magic right there in front of him – not that it would be something Arthur would want to test, mind you. As obnoxious as Merlin could be, he much preferred his friend's head to stay _on_ his shoulders, thank you very much.

Uther nodded distractedly. "Fine, fine," he agreed, waving hand dismissively.

Arthur frowned and Morgana bit her lip. "Are you feeling well, Father?"

Uther's eyes darted around nervously. "Yes."

"Perhaps the court physician should—"

"NO!" Uther all but shrieked, leaping from his seat and to his feet, eyes wild with raging fear and visibly shaking. Tears glistened in his eyes. "Please no, make it stop… so big… so… BIG!" He looked like he might faint.

Arthur, too, stood and traded a confused and worried glance with Merlin even while making his way to his father's side. Merlin narrowed his eyes and cast a quick, imperceptible eye twitch Morgana's direction. Arthur nodded just as discreetly. "Father, what's wrong? And what are you talking about?"

Morgana jumped up, every bit of her the loving, concerned ward but Arthur and Merlin knew better. "_Whatever_ could be _affecting_ you so _drastically_, my lord?" she asked, eyebrows raised high.

Uther trembled. "Make it stop!" he squeaked. "So large… I can't… big…" He started hyperventilating. "So terrifying—AHHH! Now _I'm_ doing it. Arthur, Arthur you have to make it stop. Make it go away – _please!_" Uther was clinging onto Arthur's shirt, begging Arthur to stop something – something that scared him terribly. Arthur had only seen his father like this when Morgana had put the mandrake root under his bed. What was going on now?

Morgana also went to Uther's side as both Merlin and Norton hurried forward to try and help calm the king. "This is such _immensely _and _unnervingly outlandish behavior_, Uther _Pendragon_! Please you are _petrifying _me with your _absolutely_ _uncharacteristic _actions! _Whatever _can I, your humble ward _Morgana_, do to ease your_ suffering_?" Arthur stared at Morgana's elaborate speech but forgot her when Uther broke free of them and started rampaging around the throne room, running in circles like some sort of wild beast was chasing him.

"Merlin!" Arthur bellowed as he dropped all pretenses that this was anything he could handle and tackled his panicking father head on. "Go and get Gaius and go extremely quickl—AAH!" he squawked as Uther threw him off, eyes wide and crazed with unbridled fear. "Fetch some knights to subdue him too!" Merlin dipped his head and darted off.

"STOOOOP!" the king howled.

Morgana smirked openly. "Arthur, what are we going to do? There is something _TREMENDOUSLY_," she yelled the last word, "_afflicting _him!"

Arthur spun on her. "Will you _stop _talking so elaborately!" he snapped. "This is getting ridiculous! I don't know why you're blathering on like you're some sort of scholar, but it's annoying and NOT HELPING HIM!" Little did he know, Arthur just made the situation that much worse.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "You're so _obnoxious_, Arthur. Don't be so _arrogant_. It's _exhausting!_"

Arthur fought to keep Uther from leaping out of the window and snarled at his evil sister, "GET OUT!"

Morgana, genuinely shocked, snapped back, "Excuse me?"

Uther was panting and mumbling under his breath, trying to claw his way to his feet in terror and Arthur lunged at him again, sitting on him. The way his father thrashed around, it was like Arthur was riding a horse that had just gotten stung by a bee – not pleasant. "You could get seriously –" Uther screamed again, "—hurt or traumatized—" Uther made a noise halfway between a scream and a snort, "—or something equally—" Uther almost knocked _Arthur _out the window, "horrific." He let out a yell as Uther broke free and threw his son against the wall in a mindless rampage. He was completely out of control.

Morgana glared but nodded. "Of course. Looks like you're _handling_ things just _exquisitely_, Arthur." She flounced out of the room, Uther's fit blaring out behind her, just as some guards, Merlin, and Gaius rushed toward the throne room. She sent a nasty glare Merlin's way, nodded pleasantly at Gaius, and went on her way, the laughter bubbling out of her like mad. This had been the greatest day she had had in a long, long time!

In the throne room, it took five knights to restrain Uther while Gaius examined him. All was quiet as he did so and Uther began to calm dramatically. Finally Gaius announced, "Something is making him scared – very scared. Was there anything," Uther started to panic, "that seemed to trigger the outbursts?"

Merlin spoke up for the first time. "You know, Morgana—" Uther curled in a ball and rocked back and forth, "kept talking weird, really fancy. And every time she would say a big… word…" He grinned. "That's it! Arthur, your father is afraid of big words!"

Arthur scoffed. "No, he's not! He uses them all the time. See, watch!" He paused. "Supercilious. Rudimentary. Insufferable. Irrevocably. Spontaneous. Logodaedaly. Cantankerous. Cadaverous." As he spouted off the words, Uther's face grew paler and paler and his shaking grew more erratic.

"Arthur, STOP!" Merlin yelled out. "Don't you see – he's about to snap again?"

Arthur stared, feeling guilty. "You mean… he _is _afraid of big words?"

Gaius nodded. "Three syllables – sorry Sire – or more, I'd say. He's been enchanted – oops, again, I'm very sorry, Uther, it's alright, you're safe – and has a terrible – oh, dear, my large vocabulary – sorry again – is causing him more pain! I suppose that's what I get for being so intelligent – drat!"

"Maybe we should all be very, _very _quiet," Sir Leon, who had been watching the scene with wide eyes, suggested.

"What does he have, Gaius?" Arthur demanded, ignoring the knight.

"I shouldn't—" Gaius insisted, casting a worried gaze at his King, but Arthur fixed him with a glare. "Can't we talk about this later, Sire? The enchant—er, _spell_ that was used will wear off in a few days so the effects aren't lasting. I fear if I tell you here and now…"

"Gaius, now," Arthur demanded, eyes worried as he gazed at his father.

Merlin winced. "Arthur, maybe we should…"

"Shut up, _Mer_lin. Well?"

Gaius sighed and said in a monotone voice, "Hippopoto-monstroses-quipedalio-phobia."

Uther's eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped into a dead faint. Arthur rushed to his father's side and Merlin glared at his master. "Way to go, Arthur."

Arthur glared, even as he ordered the guards to take Uther back to his chambers and keep him bedridden until he no longer so much as _twitched _when a large word was said. "Merlin? Shut. Up."

* * *

**A/N: I know this was more crack!fic material than anything, but I thought we might need something happy and stupid to bounce back from depressing and serious. XD Please review! :)**

**NEXT TIME – enmity – Morgana hates them. Every one of them.**

**Please review!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	9. Enmity

**A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews for the last one-shot! :) I was pleasantly surprised! I've had several people suggest words to me and I wanted to let you guys know that I'm going to use them (already planned on using defenestrate, actually, it's my favorite word) and that if anybody wants to suggest a word that they'd like to see a one-shot about, please tell me the word and definition in a review or message! I'll try to add every word that's suggested to my "to do" list. :) That being said, please enjoy this one. It's obviously during late season 3 before The Coming of Arthur and is pretty much a series of Morgana's blinding hatred Review! :)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Nine: Enmity**

**_enmity,_**_ n._**_  
_**_(EHN-mih-tee)  
Deep-seated hatred or ill will_

I hate them. Every single one of them.

They live their pathetic lives as if there is nothing terribly wrong with the way they live. They live ignorantly, foolishly. They masquerade as good people with good intentions while they are really plotting and conniving behind my back. They lie, they murder, they hate. They think _I_ have chosen the wrong path but they are sorely mistaken.

* * *

_I hate Arthur._

He's so pompous and arrogant. Granted, before I found out that he was an arrogant pig – not to mention my _brother_ – I found his cockiness attractive. What a fool I was. He only lives to serve himself. He pretends to care about me but all that really matters to him is his throne. When he becomes king, nothing will change. He will be worse than his father – I refuse to call him _our_ father. Magic will be outlawed still because Arthur has been totally and completely corrupted by Uther.

Soon, with the help of my sister – my _real_ family – I will take my rightful place as Queen. _I_ will be the one to restore magic to the lands. Arthur and Uther will bow before me and bear witness to the way I bring what they have so wrongly judged back to Camelot – magic.

And then they will die, knowing that their attempts to purge Camelot of magic have failed miserably.

_I hate Arthur._

* * *

_I hate Guinevere._

We used to be the best of friends. It still makes me sad sometimes, thinking about what was and what could have been. I risked my life for her, and she for mine. But that was before I discovered who I am, before I was enlightened as to my true power.

She could have chosen to stand by me, to step aside while I take _my_ rightful place. But still I dream of Queen Guinevere and still I see her in love with my impossible brother and I know. I know that she will always turn to him rather than me. Her loyalties used to lie with me, her mistress, her friend. Now she will stand by Arthur no matter what. She plans on marrying him someday and usurping MY place as Queen. And so I hate her.

_I hate Guinevere._

* * *

_I hate Uther._

He is a monster. I've always had my doubts about him, even when I really _was _his innocent, "loving" ward. From the day that I saw that poor man beheaded for sorcery and the grief it sent his mother spiraling into, I've been dubious about Uther's hatred of magic. I remember being _glad_ that I didn't have magic – or so I thought – because I knew that if I did, even Uther, who claimed to love me like a daughter, would have killed me for it. I know he would have. Because Uther has no heart.

He would rather protect his reputation than admit that I am his daughter. He wants his people to see him as a good and virtuous king – although with his violent war against magic, it is obvious that he is anything but – and somehow he thinks denying the truth that he is my father will make his people respect him more. He has always said that I am like a daughter to him. Like a daughter? Oh how sweet. Until I find out the truth. That I _am_ his daughter. The thought sickens me.

Uther has no conscience. It doesn't matter to him how a person uses their magic. He kills to make himself feel better about whatever supposed "wrong" magic has dealt him in the past. He thinks that he can stamp out magic, but he is so, utterly completely wrong. He can't stamp me out.

I can't wait until he finds out the truth. I can't wait to see him be forced to kneel at my feet. I can't wait to see him cry at my so-called betrayal.

_I hate Uther._

* * *

_I hate Merlin._

I used to think he was my friend, someone I could turn to. After all, he was the one who first admitted (in a roundabout way) that the visions, the nightmares, I had been experiencing were actually magic. He was the one who suggested I seek out the Druids to find answers and help in discovering who I really was. And I was thankful for that. But it was all a lie.

Every moment we spent together was a lie. When he oh-so-nobly stayed behind to distract Arthur and his men while I tried to escape with the Druids, when he helped me protect Mordred, when he brought me flowers and pretended to be my friend…

Lies.

Because in the end, he tried to kill me. In the end, he tried to murder me. If it wasn't for my sister, I would be _dead_. Because _Merlin_, someone I thought to be my friend, someone I trusted with my life, betrayed me. I trusted him with my life and he abused that trust by trying to take it. He may claim that he had a noble reason for poisoning me, but that only makes me hate him more. Because he clearly sides with Arthur and Uther and Camelot. I'll bet he, too, would love to see magic wiped out of Camelot for good.

Merlin is the worst because I used to think he was my friend, maybe I even had feelings for him… but now…

_I hate Merlin most of all._

* * *

**A/N: What did you think? Please review and let me know! Next time I'm going to try something a LITTLE different but hopefully it'll still be good. :) Which leads me to…**

**NEXT TIME – lampoon - A mixed up fairy tale parody where the war against magic began because of men's clothing, Morgana is an unbalanced princess, Arthur is a five-inch-tall knight, Merlin plays chess with the dragon!**

**Please review and I'll have the next one out soon! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	10. Lampoon

**A/N: Thanks for all the AWESOME reviews for the last one. I wanted to be clear though: it wasn't necessarily in order of who she hates most. I may have made that a tad confusing by putting Merlin last and saying she hated him the most. That was MY bad.**

**This one, as I said, is WAY different than anything I've done. (1) It's told (sort of) in the form of a fairy tale. (2) It's really out there. (3) It's more of a satire than anything. This is totally AU. It's a parody. In it, Arthur is a regular knight and Morgana is the princess. Kilgharra and Merlin are friends and like to play chess, and men's clothing is all the rage in Camelot. Hopefully you'll find it amusing and satirical, a real lampoon, but if not… I tried. :) This is meant to be FUNNY, y'all, so don't freak out on me. And PLEASE let me know what you think! :)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian **

**Chapter Ten: Lampoon**

**_lampoon,_**_ n.  
(lam-POON)  
__A sharp, often virulent satire directed against an individual or institution; a work of literature, art, or the like, ridiculing severely the character or behavior of a person, society, etc._

Once upon a time is a very perfunctory way to begin a fairy tale. It has been used time and time again, almost as much as the clichés "if looks could kill" and "dead as a doornail." Something that is overused is very boring and grows tiresome very quickly. That is why our noble tale will begin as follows.

It was during the great war against magic in the kingdom of Camelot that our story begins. This feral war had been raging for over two decades– a terrible, ongoing battle that most believed had begun because of the King's hatred for magic but actually was stemmed by a feud between the Humans and the Dragons over the most precious substance in the land – haberdashery.

One might gawk in amazement that such a trifle in today's time was so valuable during this time in history. As strange as it may seem, men's clothing was the most sought-after ware in the land of Camelot. But you see, in this day and age, what mattered the most – more than money, honor, or glory – was the way a man dressed. A bit superficial, perhaps, but to the Camelotians, it was the foundation of a utopian society. If a man was worth anything, he wore very nice clothing and could afford to buy his garments at popular haberdasheries such as Er Ol' Postle or Ye Ole Navy. There was no disgrace that caused a man to be looked down upon more than if he was seen purchasing his clothing at Adder's Zombie and Witch.

The Dragons, despite what everyone believed, were not bad or mean or ugly at all. In fact, they were the very beings that wove these beautiful garments for the males to strut around in. Using gold from the vast treasures collected, they would weave in rubies, emeralds, and pearls to make the most stunning haberdashery ever sewn. Everything was fine until the Dragons met with the Humans and demanded better salaries and more vacation time. The Humans, of course, being the greedy, inhuman pigs that they are, refused – and so began the magic war.

Our story begins with a knight named Arthur. Arthur lived in the king's castle, in the basement near the boiler, where the tepid air kept him warm when he slept on the ice cold floor. Arthur was only allowed to stay In the king's castle because His Majesty's daughter, a dervish young woman named Morgana, had a massive crush on Arthur.

If it hadn't been for Morgana, who seemed to be a decent person, though a tad eccentric and hyperactive, Arthur would be living on the streets or perhaps in an unoccupied mouse hole. You see, Arthur was not like other knights, or even like other men. Arthur was a homunculus.

Yes, sir, our young hero was all of five inches tall and very aware that he was not like everyone else. So what if the princess of Camelot was smitten with him? Everyone knew that she was a bit loony. That didn't make him special. It just made him funnier than ever. And he hated being funny.

One day Morgana decided that she couldn't live one more day without her tiny dream guy. She was absolutely voracious for him to love her back. She traveled down the basement of her castle and found the miniscule knight in his quarters, brooding about how horrible it was to be different. He was in a very bad mood that day, so when the princess dropped to one knee and said with an effervescent sigh, "I am madly in love with you and I assure you that my affection is not feigned. I don't care if you fall short of everyone else's standards, I love you!" he became very agitated. You see, for someone who is vertically challenged, particularly as miniature as a homunculus, phrases like "fall short of expectations" and "selling me short" or even "could you do me a small favor" are very offensive.

"I will never love you," he snapped.

When Arthur the Homunculus snapped at Morgana, Morgana snapped mentally. Panicking, in a frenzy because the man she loved didn't return her affection, she snatched him in her hand as If she were Godzilla and he a damsel in distress, trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and threw him into a bird cage. She then took him to her room, in the tallest minaret in the castle, and hung the cage from a hook on the ceiling. "Now you have to be with me forever," she laughed. By this time, Arthur was feeling even more rancorous toward his deranged captor.

* * *

Meanwhile, a wise, riddle-monger of a Dragon named Kilgharra was shaking his head in disgust at how horrible the world had become. He was playing chess with his dragon lord and powerful young warlock, by the name of Merlin. "Merlin, do you ever wonder how Camelot could have gone so downhill?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Merlin said as he took one of Kilgharra's rooks. "People can't be trusted. They are too consumed with their own wealth and haberdashery that they won't stop for a second to think about how we others might be affected." He snickered. "Take it from someone who knows – I'll never offer to protect another prince again. All they think about is 'me me me!'"

Kilgharra sighed. "But I kind of like the Humans. Sure, they're not perfect, but we Dragons and Humans used to get along." His eyes lit up. "Maybe if we proved that Dragons can be reasonable, we can become allies again. Besides, I'm sick of all the rumors that popped up because of the war. People forgot the real reason we were fighting and started to say that we kidnapped Humans and ate them and stole their treasure. My how I hate rumors."

Merlin smiled. "Perhaps you can. Checkmate." Kilgharra didn't care that he'd lost. Instead he turned his golden eyes to his friend as Merlin continued. "There is a DID in need of rescuing."

"A Damsel in Distress?" Kilgharra asked. "Isn't that a knight's job?"

"No, you misunderstand me, my friend. This is a DID – Dude in Distress. A young knight has been captured by a princess."

"Hold the phone – a princess kidnapping a knight? And I thought I'd seen everything."

"The balance of the world is changing. Perhaps if you can save this knight from the – um, how to put this nicely – disturbed maiden, the people will see that the Dragons are really very friendly and you can work out an agreement as to how the haberdashery will be handled from now on."

"Isn't this a little off?" Kilgharra asked dubiously. "An evil princess capturing a knight who is saved by a dragon?"

The warlock stroked his chin and smiled mysteriously. "That, my friend, is what makes this a great story."

* * *

Kilgharra flew quickly to the castle, trying to decide how he was going to go about the rescue of this knight. In all the stories told about Dragons, the knight would slay the "beast" and save the DID. Should he go along with the status quo? Should he smite the villainess, masticating her as he savored the taste of her soft flesh?

No way. That was absolutely icky. He would deal with her justly, but firmly. Nothing that included masticating of any kind.

As he approached the castle, Kilgharra saw the buttresses that protected the minaret and made rescue seem almost impossible. But he was committed. He had to save this Dude in Distress no matter what the cost. Only this could bring peace to the land of Camelot.

He burst through the defenses and cornered the princess. "Where is the good and noble knight? What have you done with him?"

The damsel, obviously in great distress with the large, frightening beast hovering over her, was surprisingly submissive. She pleaded for her life and pointed to the small bird cage. Kilgharra squinted. "What? I don't see anyone!"

A small voice wafted from the cage. "I'm right here, you idiot!" the homunculus knight exclaimed.

The rest is (as yet another cliché goes) history. With his daring and noble act, Kilgharra the Dragon restored peace in Camelot.

Kilgharra, Arthur, and Merlin became the best of friends, calling themselves the Three Musketeers and doing other heroic but unlikely deeds. As for Morgana, her dervish and psychotic behavior got her admitted to the local happy home/haberdashery, Psych-e, which specialized in shelling shoes.

Now Arthur isn't so self-conscious. He realizes that everyone is different, whether they are small or big or just plain psychotic. Kilgharra discovered that it's not always the best idea to stick to the status quo. Sometimes you have to take a chance and do something different, mix up some expectations. Maybe have a princess be the bad guy for once. And maybe it's time to let the dragon be the hero.

As for Merlin, he learned that changing the story a little bit with a _pinch_ of magic is better than cable TV.

* * *

**A/N: Like I said, I know it was WAY different, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. It was supposed to be silly, hopefully you enjoyed it. I kind of went out on a limb writing something like this so I hope it was worth it. :)**

**NEXT TIME – hobbledehoy – Arthur reflects on his manservant, Merlin.**

**Please review and I'll update soon! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	11. Hobbledehoy

**A/N: Once again, I was AMAZED at the response of the last one-shot! And – celebration time! – this fic has reached the 100-review marker – I don't think I've _ever_ had over 100 reviews for a mere 10 chapters before – thank you guys SO MUCH! :) Here's the next one, enjoy (and review)… XD This takes place sometime during the third season and is (obviously) Arthur's POV. :)**

**Also, starting now, I'm going to start changing the genres and characters based on each one-shot to make it a bit more explanatory. :) Unless you guys would rather me keep it the way it is, and I won't... so if you have an objection to the genres and characters being changed with each chapter, let me know, and I won't do it again. :P Enjoy! :)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Eleven: Hobbledehoy **

**_hobbledehoy, _**_n.  
(HAH-buhl-dih-HOY)  
An awkward, gawky youth_

There's something about Merlin; I just can't put my finger on it.

Honestly, looking at him, one would think that there is _nothing_ interesting or mysterious about the idiot – I certainly didn't when I first met him. There's _nothing_ about him that suggests he has any secrets, or even the mental capacity to keep a secret. Something I've reminded him of on a regular basis, mind you. "You can't hide anything from me, Merlin."

I would have never guessed that someone like Merlin would have the guts to stand up to me. Sure, when he first approached me, he challenged me, but that was because the idiot had no idea who he was. I was sure that once he found out I was the _crown prince_ of Camelot he would see sense and treat me with the respect my title demands. But he didn't.

It's strange. Merlin will come up with the most profound and – I'll kill anyone who tries to tell him this – wise comments and encouragements at the most crucial of times. Despite the fact that I'm constantly berating him, teasing him, calling him an idiot, he stands by me, has _faith_ in me, and doesn't hesitate to tell me so. That's another thing – Merlin says what Merlin wants to say, not what is _appropriate _for him to say. Sometimes he'll be sarcastic and annoying – well, almost all of the time, really – and other times he'll get this look in his eyes like he's disappointed and he'll seem to be genuinely disappointed in a decision I've made – and that, for some reason, seems to affect me more than my father's disapproval. Why, when I could care less about what Merlin thinks about me?

And then occasionally he'll come out and say something that is so foreign coming out of his mouth it leaves me nonplussed. It's like he has this… almost… understanding of things, a wisdom that not even he fully comprehends. There was that time right after I had been miraculously cured from the Questing Beast's venom that Merlin had approached me. His eyes had been sad and he looked like he had been crying. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, _why_ he looked like the weight of the whole world rested on his scrawny shoulders, but I didn't. Instead, I told him that _I _decide when we need to talk, not the other way around. Not that it did any good. Merlin never listens to me, and that day was no exception.

But what really stood out in my mind about our conversation was the way he spoke. He was grave, solemn, but also a bit – just a bit – teasing. He said that if I ever got another servant to promise that he wouldn't be a bootlicker. I'll admit that the wording of what he said after that really bothered me, almost as if he was not planning on being around much longer. "I'm happy to be your servant… until the day I die."

When the dragon attacked Camelot, there was a similar situation. This time I _knew_ he'd been crying – and while I'd felt like shedding a few tears as well for having lost what I perceived to be Camelot's last hope, I'm still unsure why the dragonlord's death affected Merlin the way that he did; he was nearly hysterical when I found him holding Balinor's lifeless body – but he still put aside his own feelings and tried to give me advice. I got the feeling that he was resigning himself to something – just what I _still_ don't know. At the time I thought it was to the fact that I, well, we, were more than likely going to die during this venture. But now… could there have been something else to it?

The fact that Merlin _willingly_ picked up a sword – which he can't use to save his life anyway, the idiot – and resolved to go with me to fight the dragon, knowing that he would more than likely _die_ in the process still baffles me. I always call Merlin a coward and an idiot, but the way he so solemnly tried to advise me, the way he stood by me – _still_ stands by me, in fact – is both touching and confusing. I can't help but think: _Why?_

Perhaps the instance that most stands out in my mind is when he spoke to me before the battle of the siege on Camelot began. He told me that this would be a day that would be remembered for all time… The words of encouragement he spoke were so kind, so… dare I say it? … wise. It was almost as if in that moment, the dorky, awkward young man that's been my servant for two years had been replaced by someone with more power and experience than I could ever imagine.

He'll say something about how I'll be a great king, or how he'll always be loyal to me, or that he's not scared because we _will_ win this battle. It comforts me. It also unnerves me.

It's always like that – Merlin will say something with a confidence I normally can't discern in him, his eyes will be hard and determined and painfully loyal to me, and his words will create a warmth, almost a cocoon of protection around me during the battle or whatever else it is that I'm to be facing and I never fail to come out the victor.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the moment is gone. His strangely wizened face is replaced with that idiotic grin of his and he's not the mysterious Merlin anymore, but simply Merlin (or as I like to call him, _Mer_lin).

Still it's kind of unnerving to know that something so brave and seemingly strong, almost _wise_ lives behind the usually blank and idiotic blue stare. Merlin's not exactly "hero" or "wise man" material, what with his gawky, gangly limbs, thin torso, lean face, and pale complexion. He doesn't stand out in a crowd, he's your average awkward teenager. But sometimes – just sometimes – when you look into his eyes, he's so much more.

I'm not sure I want to know the cause of his occasional wisdom. Then again, sometimes he's such a puzzle that I want to demand to know _everything_. Sometimes it's painfully obvious that he's hiding something – maybe even something _big_ – from me, but the next moment, he'll grin that stupid smile and he'll be back to the hapless idiot.

For now, I'm content with the level of knowledge I have about Merlin. Most of the time he's not Merlin the Mystery but _Mer_lin the Moron, and I can live with that, even if on those rare occasions he says changes my whole view of thinking…

Someday, I'll find out the truth. But for now, I think I'll have him muck out my stables just for making me ponder his strange ways while I should be doing other, more important things. Yes, I believe I'll do just that; I can hear the idiot bumbling toward me now, so –

"_Mer_lin!"

For now, _this _is the way it should be.

* * *

**A/N: What did you think? Hopefully you enjoyed it as well, I know I focused more on the "wise" factor than the actual "hobbledehoy" description of Merlin but I wanted Arthur to try and figure out how something so contrasting to Merlin's seeming idiocy could co-exist with such a hobbledehoy. Please review and let me know if it was to your satisfaction. :)**

**NEXT TIME – floccinaucinihilipilification – Uther doesn't understand the bond between Arthur and Merlin. (This chapter will be dedicated to the anonymous reviewer randomfan for suggesting it!)**

**I'll update as soon as I can! :) Please review! **

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	12. Floccinaucinihilipilification

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! Sorry for the wait! I'm glad you all are still enjoying this set of stories! :) Please review! This one is dedicated to randomfan for suggesting the word and takes place right after season 1, episode 4, _The Poisoned Chalice_ . So obviously, there will be SPOILERS for that episode. It's strange, as much as I dislike Uther, I love writing from his point of view! I guess because he's such a complex character! :P Enjoy.**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Twelve:**** Floccinaucinihilipilification **

**_floccinaucinihilipilification, _**_n.  
(flok-suh-naw-suh-nahy-hil-uh-pil-a-fi-KEY-shuhn)  
The estimation of something as valueless_

Uther just didn't understand.

He sat in his chambers at his heavy wooden table, strong back leaning stiffly against the hard back of an intricately carved dining chair, and thought. He _tried_ to understand but he found that he couldn't. Understanding wasn't coming to him tonight.

He sighed, pushed himself up from his regal seat, and began to pace, mind whirring and buzzing with the events of the past week, trying to work out a plausible explanation for his son's actions, for the servant's sacrifice, and for his own decisions. When the peace treaty had been made between Camelot and Mercia and King Bayard invited to Camelot to sign and celebrate, Uther would have never believed the implications.

_Nimueh was here… IN Camelot, so close and I didn't even realize it…_

Uther shoved the terrifying, unwelcome thoughts out of his mind as he stopped pacing for a moment, his emotionally hardened face crumpling for the briefest of moments, the façade he had grown so intertwined with over the years fading as he tried to force his thoughts elsewhere. _Anywhere_ but Nimueh.

_The servant._

Ah, yes. The boy was one aspect of this that he didn't understand. He was also safe to think about, not something that would cause fear to grip his heart like it did whenever the beautiful, murderous, traitorous face of the witch Nimueh glided through his mind's eye.

He reflected upon the boy – a gangly, awkward, clumsy, hopelessly _idiotic _teenager, bumbling around like an ignorant oaf after his son. There wasn't anything about him to suggest that he was the kind of man – well, boy, really – to put his own life on the line to save that of his master's. Not that Uther was complaining – he had to admit, if only to himself, that if it hadn't been for Merlin, Arthur probably would be dead by now and Nimueh would have extracted her sick, twisted revenge. The thought made Uther's insides coil unpleasantly.

He remembered when Merlin burst into the hall, babbling on about how something was poisoned. Uther thought that the idiot was simply trying to cause trouble or maybe even had an inflated ego because he had been rewarded for saving Arthur's life before and was trying to do so again to get even more attention. Uther had been enraged – angry that he had the _nerve_ to interrupt their dinner, the feast, and to accuse a visiting king of trying to poison Arthur. It hadn't escaped his notice how Arthur had immediately jumped to Merlin's defense, scrambling to insist that he wasn't in his right mind. And when Uther had told the boy to taste the wine that he so fervently claimed to be poisoned…

Arthur had tried to drink it.

Uther just couldn't comprehend _what_ had possessed his son. Uther had ordered the boy to drink the wine, that should have been that. The fumbling idiot – albeit an occasionally brave and confusingly loyal idiot – obviously believed that it was poisoned. If it was _Arthur would die._ And yet his son, perhaps overcome with gratefulness for the deed (although he shouldn't have been, it was simply what was to be expected of a royal's subjects), had tried to take the goblet and drink it instead of the servant. His son had gone mad. That was the only explanation he could think of.

He sunk down onto the edge of his bed again, running through the events again. Merlin falling to the ground, choking. While Uther had felt anger, it wasn't directed toward the fact that the servant was dying but because he had been right and Bayard had been trying to kill his son – or so it seemed. Arthur should have felt the same. He should have drawn his sword. Uther should have had to physically hold him back from slaughtering Bayard for his treachery then and there, assuring Arthur that he would pay soon enough.

But no. No, Arthur hadn't reached for his sword, hadn't reacted to the betrayal. Before his father could so much as blink, the crown prince of Camelot was on his knees by the boy's side, trying to rouse him, pure panic dancing erratically in his eyes. He had left the feast without even waiting to see how the tense situation was resolved. Instead, he had scooped his servant in his arms and _carried _the boy away, out of the hall, presumably to the physician's chambers.

And then he had gone – directly disobeyed his father's orders to _not_ go find the cure, that it was too dangerous, nearly dying in the process. For a _servant._

He claimed it was all a matter of honor, that Merlin had saved his life and he needed to return the favor, but Uther could see that Arthur was deceiving him, deceiving _himself._ He wasn't doing this for honor, or pride, or a sense of indebtedness. He was doing this because he was _worried_ about his servant. Apparently the idea of the boy dying was so foreign to him that he wouldn't stand for it. He had put his life, the future of Camelot, on the line for his servant.

Uther couldn't understand whatever it was that they had, master and servant.

When he had taken the flower from his son, crumpled it callously in his gloved hand, dropping it to the floor, it wasn't just to teach his son a lesson. Yes, Arthur needed to learn to listen to, obey, and respect his father – his _king_ – but if Uther was entirely honest with himself, the _bond_ that Merlin and Arthur seemed to have formed scared him.

If Arthur was willing to put his life on the line for a mere servant now, when they barely knew each other, what would he do for the boy later on? How far would he go for this servant that seemed to almost be his _friend_? Would he divulge valuable secrets? Would he cross mountains and rivers, bandit-infested lands, to save someone whose life was not _worthless_ but _worth less_ than his? Would he _die_ for Merlin? In a moment of panic, Uther had all but sentenced his son's two-time savior to death under the guise of teaching Arthur a lesson – but in actuality, he wanted to stamp out the beginnings of a friendship he saw forming.

Merlin was a servant, he was of no value to Arthur. He was disposable. Arthur couldn't afford to have his judgment clouded by the idea that the idiot was his friend, someone worth putting his life on the line for.

As it was, Uther was a bit relieved that Arthur had managed to find a way to smuggle the cure to Merlin. Not because he cared for the boy, _heavens_ no, but because he knew that he had acted out of fear and would have hurt so many more people than just Arthur if he had allowed the boy to die when the cure was in his possession. He didn't want to lose Gaius, his only true friend. He knew Morgana, as well, would be hurt and angry by the boy's death as well. And, well, Merlin _had_ saved Arthur's life. Twice.

But it still didn't mean that he had a right to think he was anything special, anything other than a servant. Uther stood, walked to his window that peered over the cobbled courtyard, and stared out, his mind still focused on one tiny, insignificant player in the game of life and why Arthur seemed to think that he was worth putting his life on the line for.

He sighed heavily as he watched his son and servant walk across the courtyard moments later, the boy still looking pale and weak from his ordeal – according to Gaius, he had been so bad off when the cure had reached him that his heart had actually stopped beating for a few moments and he had literally _died_ right there in front of the old man, restored only by the quick administration of the drug. He watched, surprised, as the servant stumbled slightly and Arthur, while laughing at his clumsiness, reached out and steadied his servant by the elbow, obviously concerned about him all the while.

Uther frowned. Yes, there was something there – a bond, not quite friendship but stronger than what was normal for a master-servant relationship – something that seemed like it could span centuries, reform kingdoms, and do the impossible, a bond that could and _would_ only grow stronger with time. Jumping slightly at the unbidden, strange, frightening thought, Uther heard himself calling for a servant to attend to him. He couldn't think about Merlin anymore. It wasn't right for a king to dwell on someone as low and valueless as a mere servant.

After all, even after all the contemplating and figuring he had done, the fact remained – _Uther still did not understand._

And chances were, he probably never would.

* * *

**A/N: What did you think? :) Please review! **

**NEXT TIME – cathartic – Shortly after Merlin's father dies, an understanding Gwen comforts him.**

**Please review! I'll update soon – again, sorry about the wait, I've been sick and had two beasts of a test to study for! :) I took some time out of my study time to get this finished for you guys – feel special. ;)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	13. Cathartic

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait guys – about a week and I'm just now updating! All I can say is sorry and hopefully it won't happen again, although with school and my other six fics, I can't make any promises. :) Here's the next one-shot and it takes place shortly after season 2, between seasons 2 and 3. Enjoy and please review! :)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Thirteen: Cathartic**

**_cathartic,_**_ adj.  
(cuh-THAR-tic)  
Emotionally cleansing_

Gwen watched as Merlin walked slowly across the courtyard which was still in construction after the attack of the Great Dragon. His shoulders seemed slumped and his eyes rarely left the ground. She knew he was probably off running an errand for Arthur but there didn't seem to be much of a purpose to his walk, any life to his steps. Something was wrong – something that had been wrong since Arthur and Merlin had returned from trying to find the last Dragonlord. She sighed as she watched him scrub a hand across his weary face. She bit her lip and decided to follow him. She didn't know where he was going but she must have been wrong in her assumption that he was doing a chore for Arthur because it looked like he was leaving the city.

Gwen didn't have much to do today; she had been doing odd jobs around the castle and sometimes even in the lower town – helping as much as she could with the rebuilding after the destructive dragon attack – ever since Morgana disappeared. She didn't have to worry about losing her home; Arthur had made sure that she would have it forever after her father died. _Her father…_ She took a deep, steadying breath and tried to focus on the task at hand – following Merlin.

Normally Gwen would never do something like this, following someone, especially a close friend like Merlin. But something was obviously bothering him greatly and if Arthur wasn't going to try and help, Gwen was. She knew that Arthur cared about his servant but it was hard to make him see it. He often hid behind his indifferent façade but the truth was that Arthur just wasn't good expressing emotions. But Merlin had reached a point where he didn't even seem to be Merlin at all – almost a shell, a husk, an empty man.

She regretted that she had spoken to him so little lately. She felt like they had grown apart as she and Arthur grew closer. It wasn't right but it was life. Still, she considered Merlin to be one of her closest friends and she didn't want to see him suffering. Whatever had happened to cause him to fall into such depression was slowly eating him alive and Gwen wouldn't stand for that. Not when she could try and help him.

She followed from a distance as Merlin walked out of the city, never once looking back to see if someone was following him. He certainly knew where he was going as he strode over hills and through a field and into a small cluster of trees. Gwen's heart was beating as she quietly trailed her friend and she wondered briefly if she should turn back. After all, this was certainly something private that Merlin was taking part in and from the way he moved with such confidence as to where he was going it was obvious he was traveling along a well-beaten trail.

She thought back to the pain that had been in his eyes a few days ago when she had stopped to tell him hello. He had smiled but it wasn't a _real_ smile; it wasn't a _Merlin_ smile. It was the ghost of a smile, an empty smile. She wouldn't accept that. Not anymore.

She surged forward, doing her best to keep up with him and taking in a great gasp of air at the raw beauty of the spot he had stopped. No wonder he came here often – this had to be the most beautiful place she had ever laid eyes on and she had never even known it existed! Merlin was sitting on the grass a few yards away from a lake that glittered royally in the sun. Mountains, higher than she could see, rose behind the lake and trees framed it with a tinge of green. The whole scene was also reflected on the surface of the water, playing back the beauty of the reality in a mystical, almost magical way. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight and Merlin spun around and locked eyes with her at the noise.

* * *

To say that Merlin was surprised to see Gwen here would be an understatement. How could he have not known that she was following him? He tried to smile at her, to let her know it was fine that she was here, all the while thankful that he hadn't performed any magic before she had made herself known. _That_ might call for some awkward questions. He wondered why she would follow him – they hadn't talked properly in months and Gwen was never the sort of person to follow people around. That was more… Merlin's job.

Gwen smiled a bit hesitantly, eyes questioning and a bit nervous. "Hi, Merlin," she breathed, the wind whipping lightly through her auburn curls and rustling the hem of her plain pink dress. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

Merlin shook his head, his own black hair moving in the breeze. He found that he was actually quite glad of her company. These past few days since the battle with the Great Dragon – Kilgharra, Balinor had said – had been so lonely, even with Arthur's near constant presence (involving lots of boasting about how _he_ had killed the dragon, the prat!) and Gaius's hovering concern. "No. I'm glad you're here." Gwen gave him an awkward, half-hearted laugh and he gestured to the grass beside him. "Want to sit?"

* * *

Gwen sat down slowly, hesitantly, tucking her legs beneath her and arranging her skirts. She looked out at the lake, breathed in the scent of the water before commenting, "This is a beautiful place."

"Mmm."

She glanced at her friend to see that he, too, was fixated on the gently lapping water. He didn't turn to look at her, even when he felt her eyes on his face. She tapped her fingers restlessly on her thigh, not sure where to begin. "How did you find it?"

Merlin jumped, almost as if he had forgotten Gwen was there with him. He turned to face her and when he did his face was guarded, his eyes not open like they normally were. He sighed. "A… friend. She told me about this place." Gwen was sure this was a half-truth but wasn't ready to pursue this line of questioning just yet.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "Merlin – I know we haven't had a proper conversation in months and that you probably hate me for being so distant –"

"I could _never_ hate you, Gwen, you know that," Merlin quickly intervened.

Gwen smiled gratefully before plowing on before she lost her nerve. "It's just… it's kind of awkward, you know? You're the only other person that knows about Arthur and I. We're both servants and he treats me like a lady and he treats you like a…"

Merlin smiled wryly, cocking an eyebrow. "Like a servant?"

Gwen chuckled. "Well… yes. But… he cares about you, Merlin. I know he does. He just doesn't know how to express it." How she had wound up trying to justify Arthur's ignorance of Merlin's problems, she didn't know. Merlin continued to look faintly amused and she blushed. "What?"

"Arthur loves the way you stumble over your words when you're flustered," Merlin smiled.

Gwen went even redder. "He… said that?"

Merlin almost laughed. "Of course. He talks about you all the time… Don't tell him I said that – he probably wouldn't be too happy about that and I _really_ don't fancy another trip to the stocks."

Gwen giggled. "Remember when we first met?"

"Of course I do. It was right after I met Arthur. Somehow, you left a better first impression on me than our royal prat."

Gwen lightly, teasingly scolded her friend. "Now, _Mer_lin…"

Merlin actually let out a chortle at Gwen's surprisingly accurate impersonation of Arthur. As soon as he stopped laughing, though, the intense sadness gleamed in his eyes once more and Gwen found herself desperate to make it better. Sensing the change in Gwen's train of thought, Merlin took a breath. "But you didn't follow me here to reminisce about old times or talk about Arthur, did you?"

Gwen shook her head. "Not exactly." Merlin didn't speak but simply looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak. "Merlin, you've been so sad these past few days. I don't know if I've ever seen you look this forlorn. And _don't_ try to tell me you're fine; this may have been the first time we've talked in a while but I still know you. And you're _not_ fine." She paused then pushed forward hesitantly. "Something happened, Merlin. Something you're keeping bottled up inside. Something that happened right around the time that the dragon attacked Camelot."

Merlin visibly paled and Gwen knew she'd hit the nail on the head. "What makes you think that?"

"Because this… depression started _after_ you returned from trying to find Balinor."

At the mention of the name, Merlin's eyes darted to the ground and he blinked his eyes several times. Gwen felt her heart constrict as she watched her friend hurt. She wasn't sure what Balinor had to do with it, so she decided to take a chance and just ask. "Balinor…" she repeated slowly, quietly. "Did you know him?"

Merlin tensed up before meeting her gaze for a mere second. He then looked back out over the lake. "No," he managed. "N-not really." His face was dry but there were tears in his voice.

"But his death upsets you," Gwen observed, placing a coffee-colored hand on his shoulder.

Merlin nodded. "Of c-course. He was the last of his k-kind. That's sad."

Gwen shook her head slowly before hesitantly reaching on with one hand and touching Merlin's face, gently guiding it so he was looking at her. She quickly removed her hand, afraid that she might have overstepped some unseen "friend" boundaries between them but Merlin simply sat there, looking at her. "Please, Merlin," the fellow servant pleaded. "You can't go through this alone. I want to be there for you."

Merlin looked conflicted. "I can trust you, Gwen, I know I can, and I would tell you… but…"

Gwen wasn't sure what Merlin was contemplating trusting her with but found that she was elated to be getting _somewhere_ at least. "But?"

"But… I'm afraid it would hurt you, too. Bring back painful memories. And I can't do that to you."

Gwen felt her heart swell in gratitude. She knew why Arthur kept Merlin around – he had the biggest heart, the kindest soul of any man she'd met. He was caring, almost naïve. He almost possessed the view on life that a child might – optimistic, bright… most of the time. But now, he was hurting. And he wouldn't tell Gwen about it because he was afraid it would hurt _her._

She shook her head slightly. "Merlin… I _want_ to know. Whatever memories you're afraid it will bring up are worth you telling… someone about what's hurting you."

Merlin smiled – genuinely, this time. "Thank you, Gwen," he breathed. "You're a true friend." He broke off as if not sure where to begin. He glanced at her, then at his hands, and back at his lake. That's what she had deemed this place. _His _lake. _Merlin's_ lake.

"I won't tell anyone," she found herself promising before she even knew what he was going to tell her.

"I can't force you to make that promise," Merlin decided. "It's your decision, although I would appreciate if we kept it between us, at least for the time being."

"Of course."

He chugged in a deep breath of air and admitted, "Balinor… was my father.

Gwen stared. His… father? Merlin's father was a Dragonlord? Which meant that… Merlin was a Dragonlord… Which implied that—

"_You_ killed the dragon?" Gwen breathed before she knew what she was saying. When she realized what her question had been, she silently cursed herself for being so callous. How could she have forgotten that they were talking about his loss? "I'm sorry."

Merlin shook his head. "No. Don't be. It's a bit of a shock, I know. It was to me, too, when Gaius told me right before Arthur and I left to find him. And… no. I didn't kill the dragon. I sent him away, made him promise to never attack Camelot again or I _would_ kill him."

Gwen was impressed and touched. She scooted closer to her friend and wrapped a thin but surprisingly strong arm around his lean shoulders. "You've such a kind heart, Merlin. Don't ever change." She bit her lip, feeling tears spring to her eyes as she remembered her own turmoil after her father had been killed. She now understood why Merlin had been reluctant to share this with her – it was hard thinking about her dad's death and even more difficult thinking about how her friend had had to go through the same agony. She wanted to comfort him and at the same time she wanted to curl into a ball and feel sorry for herself. She chose the former. This was about Merlin. Not Gwen.

Merlin.

* * *

"Do you… want to tell me about it?" Gwen asked. Merlin felt her arm around his shoulders and heard the sorrow, the heartbreak in her voice. He knew that she had to be reliving the moments after her own father's death right now. He couldn't do this to her any longer, no matter how much he really wanted to let it out. He shook his head jerkily. "No. I'm fine."

Gwen leaned away from him and stared him down. "No. You're _not_. I know you're trying to protect me, Merlin, but my father's death is something I have to live with every day. I don't just think about him when someone else's father dies or when I see a little girl kiss her daddy goodbye before he leaves for work, but every moment of every day. I think about him all the time and his death will always haunt me. But I was able to get through the worst part of the pain – now it's almost a numb sensation. It hurts more times than others, but time does heal wounds. And so do friends.

"Merlin, I've had you and Arthur and M-Morgana there for me this whole time. You have been amazing. I wouldn't have made it through the terrible days after Father's death if it hadn't been for you. And this is what you need now."

Almost panicked, Merlin frantically cried, "No, I can't tell Arthur."

Gwen pursed her lips in obvious disapproval. "It's your decision, Merlin, and I'm certainly not going to divulge it to anyone, least of all Arthur. But I think you should tell him. He'd understand. He's _not_ like his father." She smiled sadly. "_Now_ do you want to talk about it?"

And so he did. He opened up to Gwen and let the emotions, the memories, the fears, the depression flow. He told her about how ecstatic he was to have finally found his father. How they planned to go to Ealdor together after the business was done in Camelot. How he had looked into those eyes and seen himself. How he had talked to his father about becoming a Dragonlord.

And how the very next day Balinor had died in his arms.

He spoke of the overwhelming guilt, the gut-wrenching agony, and the pure loneliness that followed. Tears fell down both of their faces as he talked and old memories were revisited – and at the same time, new memories were being made.

When he finished talking, Gwen didn't say a word. Instead, she pulled her friend into the warmest, most compassionate and understanding hug he had ever partaken in. He felt himself melt into her embrace as they cried. Somehow, when they broke apart, their sobs had transformed into laughter and they sat and chuckled and chortled and snorted and giggled until their stomachs ached and they could barely breathe.

"This feels good," Merlin commented. "I fell like a great weight has been lifted from my chest."

Gwen smiled brightly, tears still glistening on her cheeks, and she nodded her agreement. "Me too."

Together they sat, side by side in front of his lake – Freya's lake, although Gwen didn't know this, not yet – staring out at the beauty of nature and reflecting how far their friendship had come and how maybe the future wasn't so bleak after all.

* * *

**A/N: Wowsers, that was another emotional one – I think it was cathartic for me, too, even though I can't imagine the pain that those two have gone through! I hope you enjoyed it – please review!**

**NEXT TIME – alopeciaphobia – Uther reflects on his decreasing hairline. **

**That one should be fun, lol! Again, please review! I'll update as soon as I can! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	14. Alopeciaphobia

**A/N: It's past midnight and I'm bone-tired but not wanting to sleep, so I decided to go ahead and write this next one-shot! :) Thanks so much for all the kind reviews for the last one. Oh, and a few of you pointed out that I've done a lot of Uther fics – I honestly hadn't even noticed until you guys mentioned it, but I _am_ pleased that you're enjoying them all the same! :) This takes place during season 3, shortly after episode 3, "Goblin's Gold." Enjoy and please review!**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Fourteen: Alopeciaphobia**

**_alopeciaphobia, _**_n.  
(a-loh-PEE-shuh-FOH-bee-uh)  
The fear of balding_

Uther frowned as he studied himself in the mirror, his crown resting in the hands of his slightly nervous manservant who was waiting warily for the king to allow him to place the adornment on his head. Uther wasn't quite ready to put it on quite yet, though – something had caught his eye. Or rather, _lack_ of something.

And that lack of something did _not_ please him.

He self-consciously ran a leather gloved hand over his head and through his thinning hair, a few short, grayish strands sticking to the black leather. Grimacing, the king of Camelot dusted off his hands and spun on his servant, who jumped and nearly dropped the crown . Normally Uther would have been irritated at the man's incompetence, but today there was something weighing heavily on his mind.

"My hairline is receding, isn't it?" Uther snapped at the already cowering servant. The servant – his name was Daniel, if Uther remembered correctly, and although he had been working for Uther for over a month, he was still rather skittish – looked a bit confused, lowered his eyes, and muttered, "Of course not, my liege."

Uther smiled, relieved, before narrowing his eyes at the poor man. "You're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you?"

Daniel didn't answer right away because he was remembering having the same exact conversation with his wife a few hours earlier before he had left for work, except she hadn't asked him if she was going bald, but if her dress made her look fat. Caught up in his reverie, Daniel found himself accidentally intoning what he had grown accustomed to answering his self-conscious wife. "No dear, you are not fat." He snapped back to reality as soon as the words came out of his mouth and he thought Uther was going to strangle him then and there.

It didn't seem Uther was paying attention, though, because he was gazing in the mirror again. He waved a dismissive hand at Daniel the mortified servant and said, "Very good, Damien, you may go – leave the crown on the table."

Not believing his good luck after that horrid slip-up, Daniel all but flew out of the room after putting the crown on the table.

Meanwhile, Uther stared at his reflection. It _was_ true. He could see it in that servant's eyes even as his trembling lips said no. Uther felt fear bubble up inside of him at the thought of actually having to relive one of his worst nightmares – from _natural_, not goblin-induced, curable causes this time. He didn't know if he could handle the stress.

He remembered the vulnerability, the shame, the glances he would get when people thought he wasn't looking, the slaps to the skull as Gaius the Goblin patted his hairless head down. He knew for a fact that of all the remedies in the world, there was none for baldness.

It just wasn't fair.

He had once had a luscious, beautiful head of hair, wavy and full, when he had first become king. And then, shortly after Arthur's birth and the terrible circumstances that surrounded it, the first gray hair appeared. And then another… and another… and suddenly his head had been completely colonized by the gray. It hadn't been too bad, though – it made him dignified. Impressive.

But this… to lose the hair on top of his head when he had all the power in the kingdom at his fingertips?

Needless to say, King Uther Pendragon was _not_ happy with this development.

* * *

**A/N: Haha, silly little short fic there. Going more serious with the next one –**

**NEXT TIME – visceral – Merlin is seriously injured while protecting Arthur, throwing himself into danger without a second thought to himself. (Part 1 of 3)**

**Please review and I'll try to get the next one up as soon as I can! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	15. Visceral

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback on that last one! I know I've said this before but I'll say it again – the popularity of this story has flabbergasted me – THANK YOU! You guys are awesome – please keep the reviews coming, they inspire me to write more… and more I shall write… as crazy as this sounds, I've already got a list of words building up and I've got fifty more at the moment… and I'm still searching for more! :) So here's hoping you don't get tired of this story anytime soon! :P This takes place late season 2 but before episode 12. This is a short one leading up to two longer chapters. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Fifteen: Visceral (PART ONE)**

_**visceral, **adj._  
_(VIH-suh-ruhl)_  
_Instinctive, as a gut reaction_

Merlin didn't even register what he was doing until the dagger was in his chest.

He had watched as the assassin had drawn the dagger stealthily from his cloak. He had seen the flash of gold as the weapon's speed and path was enhanced with magic. He had seen the glint of the blade as it hurtled through the air, spinning in a deadly arc for Arthur's chest. There hadn't been time to think. No time to contemplate what he could do. No noble realization that this might very well be the day he died for his prince. No warning, no time, no thought.

Just action.

He had done what he had to do. And he hadn't hesitated. Saving Arthur wasn't something he had to contemplate anymore. It was elemental, instinctual. Just like his magic. The magic he hadn't even had time to use in the split second that he had to save Arthur. The magic that he could only hope would keep him alive now.

He flung himself forward, shoving Arthur's body as hard as he could, pushing him to the floor, shielding his friend, the deadly blade slicing easily through his flesh.

At first he felt nothing. He heard nothing. He watched with increasingly blurred vision as Arthur's mouth opened in a soundless roar and dove for the assassin, taking him by surprise and plunging his sword into his heart. And then the world tilted, spinning sickeningly as Merlin tried to figure out how the floor had grown so much closer in such a short amount of time and why his upper body was hanging limply from Arthur's arms. His mind was fuzzy, his ears buzzing, and there was something warm and uncomfortable soaking through his shirt. He wondered blearily if Arthur had thrown water on him again.

And then the pain started – a small trickle of uncomfortable agitation turned into unbearable agony as the shock of being stabbed wore off. He choked, coughing, and something bubbled out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, tickling his neck. Above the humming in his ears and the fire screaming rabidly in his chest, Merlin was vaguely aware of someone shouting his name, yelling at him, pleading with him, demanding _something_ of him. Merlin didn't know what it was and his vision had gone red. Whatever they wanted didn't seem all that important anymore.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and caught a quick glimpse of a halo of faces looming over him. He thought he recognized the old man, and the dark-skinned girl, maybe even the pale angel who looked on, her dark hair so long it almost tickled his face. He glanced up and saw the blonde man, recognition flooding over him. Arthur! He had never seen Arthur looked this terrified – what had happened? He wondered if someone had died. He tried to say something, to comfort his friend and master, but more blood clogged his throat and he began to tremble.

More faces, faces he didn't know at all, with silver helmets upon their heads, appeared and suddenly his world twisted yet again as he was airborne. He felt himself moving – but he _wasn't _moving – and he heard voices and shouts and doors slamming and people running and someone kept saying his name…

And then…

There was nothing at all.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I'm terrible… is Merlin going to survive? What's Arthur's take on all this? What happens next? Well… find out more in the next part:**

**NEXT TIME – macabre – Merlin fights for his life after his injury while Arthur watches helplessly while his friend struggles. Part 2.**

**Please review and I'll have the next part up as soon as I can! :)**


	16. Macabre

**A/N: So… a lot of you were prepared to kill me after leaving y'all at that cliffhanger last chapter. :) So I'll shut up and let you read… please review! :) **

**Quick disclaimer: I am not a medical doctor nor am I a surgeon or a medieval court physician. Not really sure exactly how Gaius would go about this (I'm trying to keep it purposefully vague) but this is me saying that I'm not exactly savvy in all of this and I'm just trying to do the best I can. Enjoy. XD**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Sixteen: Macabre (PART TWO)**

**_macabre, _**_adj.  
(muh-KAHB)  
Gruesome; horrifying; having death as a subject_

Arthur watched as the assassin – disguised as a page to a visiting nobleman – hefted the lightweight, thin, deadly dagger and sent it in a surefire path for Arthur's heart with one tiny flick of his wrist. There was no time to move – there wasn't even any time to blink. Arthur's mind flitted, unbidden, to the day when the witch who had impersonated Lady Helen had thrown the knife at him. He hadn't been able to move – frozen in shock and fear. This time, he would have moved had he had time, but the throw was so sudden, so unexpected.

Before the dagger could reach its target – in that split second between the throw and the hit – there was a flurry of blue and red and brown. Before Arthur could comprehend what had happened, Merlin was swaying on his feet in front of him, a dagger embedded in his thin chest.

Arthur roared and lunged at the man, killing him before he had a chance to withdraw any other hidden weapons. In the next instant he was at Merlin's side, catching his friend as he sunk to the ground, a dagger in his stomach and pain written on his pale face. He was gasping for breath, air catching in his throat and Arthur saw that dark red blood was staining his blue shirt black around the hilt of the offending weapon.

Vaguely Arthur heard screaming, swords being drawn, his father yelling something, and footsteps as people – Arthur didn't even care who they were at this point – congregated around him and the unconscious, dying boy in his arms. _Merlin_.

Arthur couldn't think, he couldn't move, he could barely breathe. No. This was a dream, a nightmare. There was no way that Merlin had taken a dagger for Arthur. Merlin was _not_ bleeding out faster than Arthur could staunch the flow, he was _not _struggling for each tiny, ragged breath of air, and there was most certainly _not _a knife embedded in his thin chest. Merlin was _not_ dying.

Arthur held his servant, his friend, tightly in his arms, not willing to let go. He could hear the rumble of voices around him, some saying his name. Someone yelled for the guards. A hand fell on his shoulder and Gaius's voice, worn and haggard, sighed in his ear like the groan of a dying willow. "Sire… we have to take him to my chambers."

Arthur could barely comprehend the situation. Shock was taking over, causing him to act irrationally, out of character. He shook his head obstinately, pulling Merlin tighter, not willing to give him up. _Merlin had sacrificed his life for him…_

And then someone was forcibly but gently prying Merlin from his arms and he finally let him go, saying Merlin's name all the while. He didn't know if Merlin was alive or dead, he didn't know if he would live or die, all Arthur knew was that he didn't want his friend to be taken from him – by Death or the guards that had lifted him away. It was all too surreal, this couldn't be happening…

Arthur clambered to his feet, Merlin's blood on his hands from where he had tried to stop the bleeding, spinning on everyone who had been crowded around him – Gwen, Morgana, his father who did _not_ look particularly happy – and told them to stay, that _he_ would go with Gaius but no one else because the physician needed room to work. He could barely hear the words coming out of his own mouth and blearily saw that Gwen and Morgana were both protesting, wanting to be with Merlin. Arthur didn't relent. "Later," he said in a tone that booked no argument. And then he spun on his heel, ignoring their calls, paying no attention to his father's eyes boring into his back. He caught up with the guards, Gaius, and Merlin and the rest of the walk to the physician's quarters went by in a daze.

* * *

Merlin was lying pale and motionless on the patient table, the knife still embedded in his chest and his breathing was shallow but steady. The guards had gone, leaving only Gaius and Arthur to tend for Merlin. The door creaked open and Arthur found himself glaring at Gwen and Morgana as the hurried inside, faces etched with concern as they slowly, almost hesitantly, approached the injured man. "I thought I told you two to _wait_. Gaius needs all the room he can get."

Morgana took a moment to make a face at Arthur. "Oh, grow up, Arthur – Gwen and I both know that what Gaius needs is people to help." She ignored the prince and turned to Gwen. "Gwen, can you go fetch some water from the well?" Gwen nodded and disappeared out the door. Arthur moved to Merlin's side, across the table from Gaius.

"Will he be alright?"

Gaius was clearly struggling to keep a firm grip on his unfazed doctor façade as he examined the man that had become more than a son to him. He didn't answer and Arthur couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. Instead, the physician announced, "I need to remove the dagger. I won't be able to tell if the damage is fatal until the knife is out of his chest." He glanced around. "Can someone fetch me some water?"

Gwen bustled back into the room right at that moment, a bucket of water in her hands. "Here you go, Gaius. Do you need anything else?"

Gaius shook his head distractedly. "Just room and quiet to concentrate."

Arthur couldn't help but send Morgana a slightly triumphant look. He knew he was being a bit childish but he was in shock, annoyed at how frantic he was becoming over his servant (even though said servant had saved his life), and just wanting Merlin to get better. Morgana glared stonily at him, silently chiding him for his stupid behavior, and Arthur's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry."

Morgana smiled wanly, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder and casting a sad look in Merlin's direction. "So am I, Arthur."

The two girls left while Arthur struggled to keep his emotions in check. The way Morgana had said she was sorry… it was as if she was already mourning his death. Cringing as he looked over to see the pale and bloody servant, Arthur realized that all too soon, he might be doing the same.

* * *

Later that night, Arthur sat at Merlin's bedside, bloodshot blue eyes refusing to close for more than the millisecond required for blinking. People had been in and out of Gaius's chambers all evening – some of the knights, inquiring as to Merlin's health; Morgana and Gwen, bringing flowers and teary eyes; even his father – although Uther had just come by to try and order Arthur to stop hovering over a mere servant, an order that Arthur had outright refused. Merlin had _saved his life_. Merlin hadn't just saved his life but he had jumped in front of a dagger to do so. He wasn't going to leave Merlin.

* * *

_What is it with Merlin wanting to protect me? That's how he became my servant in the first place. He saved my life from Lady Helen – well, the woman who had killed her and took her place. Now that I think about it, that was a very similar situation. A knife flying through the air at my chest… I couldn't move… Merlin pushing me out of the way… Except this time, Merlin wasn't quick enough. He willingly took a dagger for me. _

_Why me?_

_I'm not even all that nice to him – I call him names and laugh at him and make him do demeaning chores. I throw things at him and embarrass him in front of the knights. But I'm not always terrible to him, am I? We're… friends… of a sort, aren't we?_

_I'd like to think we are. I know that we aren't allowed to be but he's risked his life to save mine and I his. We've gone on quests together, him always tagging along even though he doesn't have armor. We joke around and I let him get away with a lot more than any other master. I mean... we _are_ friends. Right?_

_Not that I necessarily deserve to be his friend. Not while he's lying there in front of me, face paler than the scratchy sheet beneath his limp, almost lifeless body, eyes closed, bandaged chest moving up and down slowly, painfully… it's bloodstained, just like the shirt we Gaius and I had to cut off of him. Just like _my_ shirt that I have yet to change out of. _

_How could this have happened? Why did Merlin do this? Doesn't he realize that _his_ life is important too? _

_And if – no, _when_, I have to believe that – he wakes, how will I ever repay him?_

_

* * *

_Gaius had to admit, it was a miracle that no vital organs or arteries had been punctured by the dagger. Merlin's lungs and heart remained intact and there seemed to be no internal bleeding. Three days had passed since Merlin had thrown himself in the pathway of the knife and Gaius still couldn't get the terrible image of the dagger embedding itself into Merlin's flesh out of his mind.

Arthur had barely left Merlin's side since the incident. Gaius had to admit that was a bit surprising – Merlin had been hurt before but Arthur had never been this fixated on staying with him before. Then again, Merlin _had_ leapt in front of a dagger for Arthur. That was an act that could never be undone, something final, often fatal, and it brought into clear relief how much Arthur meant to Merlin and it seemed to have opened Arthur's eyes as well. This time, it hadn't been a case of drinking poison that Arthur could hunt down a cure for. This time, Merlin had truly placed himself in the arms of fate and destiny, knowing all the while that there would be no easy fix for his pain.

Merlin was truly a remarkable young man and Gaius could only hope and pray that his magic would help to guide him through the injury. Gaius couldn't imagine life without Merlin, despite the fact that he had lived most of his life without the boy. Now he was an irreplaceable fixture in the old physician's life and if Merlin died, Gaius would never – _ever_ – be the same again.

Gaius smiled slightly as he watched Arthur who was sitting by Merlin's bedside talking in a low, soothing voice. Arthur had kept up a stream of one-sided conversation most of the time he had been here, so much so that his voice had become quite hoarse. Gaius frowned – something seemed a bit different about the tone of Arthur's voice this time, though. Almost as if he expected an answer.

"Merlin? Are you okay? _Merlin? _Merlin!" The last 'Merlin' was filled with joy and Gaius rushed forward, hardly daring to believe it, when he saw that Merlin had indeed opened his eyes and was staring wearily up at them.

"Ar…?" Merlin didn't even get the prince's name out before he went back under but it was enough to assure the physician and prince that he was indeed fighting to recover.

He might just pull through this, after all.

* * *

**A/N: What did you think? Please review! The final part of the "trilogy" will be out soon:**

**NEXT TIME – incontrovertible – Arthur decides to have a little "talk" with Merlin about his apparent longing to die for him. Part 3.**

**Please review! I'll update soon!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	17. Incontrovertible

**A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait! It's been a busy week and I haven't been feeling the greatest… but no more excuses! The fact of the matter is that I'm updating now! :) Here's the final installment of this "trilogy" – enjoy and don't forget to review! :)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Sixteen: Incontrovertible (PART THREE)**

**_incontrovertible,_**_ adj.  
(ihn-kahn-truh-VER-tih-buhl)  
Undeniable; indisputable; not open to question_

When Merlin finally woke up it was to Arthur sitting on a stool by his bed, eyelids drooped about a quarter of the way over his eyes, looking dazed and half asleep. His hair was a bit disheveled and he looked like he was on the brink of passing out. Merlin wasn't sure what was going on, why the prince was in Gaius's chambers looking so haggard (there was no other word for it), or why his chest felt like it was on fire and a huge weight was bearing down on it.

He blinked and the world came into clearer focus. "Ar…thur?" he breathed, desperate for some answers. He had no idea what was going on and frankly, it scared him a little.

The prince's reaction was unexpected. He practically flew from the stool, knocking it over in the process, and yelled, "Merlin!"

Merlin winced at the volume of Arthur's cry and the prince actually looked apologetic. What was up with that? "Wa…ter…" He could barely get his words past the dry lump in his throat. He strained to remember what had happened but once again came up with nothing. Arthur nodded and moved over to the table to get a cup of water. He returned to Merlin's side, being careful of his aching torso, and helped him sit up, pressing the cup to his lips so he could drink. Merlin coughed when the cool liquid first hit his system and a sharp spasm rocked his chest.

"Merlin?" Arthur sounded uncertain.

The servant managed a wan smile as he leaned back on his pillows. "Thanks." His voice was much stronger now. He glanced around. "What happened? Where's Gaius?"

Arthur seemed surprised. "You don't remember?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "How can I remember where Gaius is when I've just woken up?"

Arthur snorted. "Not that, you idiot – I was talking about what happened. You don't remember what happened?"

Merlin chuckled and held back a gasp at pain at the sudden movement to his chest. He must have gotten hurt pretty badly and he could vaguely remember pain, lots of faces, crimson blood, and someone saying his name, but the details hadn't come back to him yet. "No, I don't – not fully. That's why I asked you."

Arthur smiled. "Makes sense." An almost awkward silence hung between master and servant as Arthur put the stool right side up and sat heavily upon it. Merlin shifted slightly and winced. "So…" he began eventually. "Care to enlighten me?"

He was grinning that disarming half-smile of his but Arthur didn't seem to notice. For the first time Merlin realized that this hadn't been just some blow to the head or nick of a sword. Something _bad_ had happened, something that Arthur apparently hadn't come to terms with fully yet. "Arthur…" This time his voice was softer, gentler. "What happened?"

His voice hoarse and a bit strained, Arthur answered slowly, "You took a dagger in the chest for me."

Merlin's eyes widened at the words and suddenly images flowed through his head, memories cascading over him, engulfing him in what had happened. That page, he had been an assassin. He had thrown a knife at Arthur, trying to kill him. And Merlin had… why, he _had_ jumped in front of the dagger, hadn't he? He had saved Arthur's life – again – but this time he had almost lost his own in the process. Merlin smiled but this time it was a little off as he was lost in his dark thoughts. "Dunno what I was thinking," he joked, realizing afterwards that this was almost exactly what Will had said after taking an arrow for Arthur… and Will… Will hadn't survived.

Merlin pushed the agonizing memory of his childhood best friend's violent death out of his mind. He couldn't afford to think of such things now, especially given what had just happened. For heaven's sake, Arthur looked like he was about to fall apart. At Merlin's words, however, Arthur's eyes lit up and Merlin was a bit wary of the angry gleam that overtook the blue pools. "Neither do I, _Mer_lin," Arthur stated dryly. "Neither do I."

Merlin shifted under the glare and suddenly felt the need for a little protection from his irritated master – he wasn't sure what had caused Arthur's abrupt change in mood but he could tell that it had something to do with him (although how Arthur could blame him when he'd been out cold, Merlin didn't know, but trust Arthur to figure something out). "Erm… where's Gaius?" the warlock asked, hoping that his mentor would spring out of the shadows ready to defend his ward from the prince's exasperation. But no such luck.

"He's out," Arthur replied simply, still staring Merlin down.

Merlin puckered his lips a bit, agitated. "Out _where_?"

Arthur glowered. "Does it really matter, Merlin? He's _not_ here and we _are_ going to talk."

Merlin pouted. "What could there possibly be to talk about?"

Arthur stared. "You _seriously_ did not just ask me that." He stood, paced back and forth a few times, rubbed his stubble-covered jaw, and plopped back down right where he'd been. "Let's see… we could start with you, oh, _I don't know_, throwing yourself in front of a dagger!"

Merlin huffed. "To save _your_ royal backside!"

Arthur stood again, eyes wide. "What exactly do you think you are, _Mer_lin? Do you think you're a knight?"

Merlin lowered his eyes. "Of course I'm not a knight – they're thick, aren't they?"

But Arthur wasn't about to be distracted by Merlin's "humor." "Shut up, Merlin."

"What? You asked me a question!"

"I said shut up!" This time, Merlin hastily clamped his lips together, the tone his master was using suggesting that this was _not_ the time to be making jokes. Arthur was seriously upset about something and apparently Merlin's attempts to lighten the mood were only making things worse. So Merlin restrained the urge to call Arthur a prat and gritted his teeth as he tried and failed to sit up more. He hissed with pain and Arthur immediately came to his side, gently taking his arm and sitting him upright. His eyes were a bit softer as he regarded his hurting manservant. "You alright?"

Merlin nodded jerkily, trying his hardest to keep the pinpricks of tears out of his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. Eventually the pain in his chest subsided and he opened his eyes, sweat beading his brow, but not nearly as uncomfortable as he had been just moments ago. "Yeah," he managed to say. "I'm fine."

Arthur snorted. "Of course you are." He looked Merlin up and down one more time, double-checking that he was indeed okay (Merlin was notorious for trying to hide his pain, even when it came down to his own health) and nodded briefly as if confirming it to himself. He then continued with his rant. "No, Merlin, you are _not_ a knight, you're not a soldier, you're not even a mere palace guard! You are a _servant!_"

"I think we've established that already," Merlin snapped irritably. He wished Arthur would just get to the point; he was tired and the pain was getting worse although he wasn't about to let Arthur know that.

Completely ignoring the interruption, Arthur pressed on. "So _why_ is it that you think that it's your _job_ to protect me?"

Merlin set his jaw stubbornly. "Because it _is_ my job, Arthur. It is every citizen's job to defend their prince."

Arthur growled. "Not at the cost of their own lives!"

Merlin couldn't hold back a brief bitter smile. "Your father would disagree."

"This has nothing to do with my father!" Arthur retaliated hotly. "This has to do with _you!_"

Merlin stuck his chin out defiantly. "I did what was _right_."

Arthur let out an explosive breath of air. "Damn it, Merlin, why can't you get it through your thick head? I don't _need _you to try and protect me, and I don't _want_ you as a bodyguard. You're a servant. You never should have drunk that poisoned wine for me last year, and you should _not_ have jumped in front of that knife."

Merlin rolled his eyes dramatically. "So you _want_ me to let you die?"

"I would have moved!" Arthur's voice was a bit higher than normal as he tried to defend himself.

"Right, because you were moving _so_ fast when I ran over to you."

"This isn't funny, Merlin!" Arthur really sounded angry – and not just angry, but scared. Apparently Merlin's near death experience had shaken the prince up more than it had Merlin. Then again, the warlock was used to putting his life on the line for Arthur on a near daily basis, so while this was traumatic and painful, it wasn't affecting him nearly as much as it was Arthur. Merlin almost smiled, realizing how much their relationship had grown and changed since last year. Arthur would definitely deny it later on, but he was being a friend to Merlin, even in the midst of his lecture. Still, he felt Arthur was being a bit ridiculous in insisting Merlin shouldn't have saved his life.

"I'm not joking!" Merlin spat incredulously. "You weren't moving, Arthur. I don't know if you were scared—"

"I don't _get_ scared!"

"—or if the sorcerer put some sort of freezing spell on you, but the fact is you weren't going to move. And I'm sorry if you have a death wish, _Sire_, but I certainly wasn't just going to stand by and watch you _die_ when I could save you."

"I didn't need saving!" Arthur protested weakly although Merlin could see that was just his pride talking; his eyes said that he knew just as well as Merlin that if the servant hadn't intervened, Arthur would be injured or worse right now.

Merlin let out a short bark of laughter and ignored the burst of pain blossoming from his wound. "You know, Arthur, maybe I shouldn't have saved you. Who would have thought you'd have been such a complete _prat_ about it?"

Merlin's words were joking but his tone wasn't. Arthur regarded him for a few moments and Merlin knew that Arthur could tell he was hurt. It wasn't just because Arthur couldn't admit he needed help but because he seemed so ungrateful… If he only knew what Merlin did for him, risked for him on a daily basis…

Arthur's response surprised him. "You're right, Merlin."

The warlock couldn't help but joke. "What was that, Arthur? I didn't hear that."

"Shut up, idiot." A large bit of warmth returned to the room at Arthur's automatic response. "I wasn't going to move. But that doesn't change the fact that you shouldn't have taken that dagger for me!"

"Oh, so you're so much of a prat that your pride makes you want to die rather than have someone else help you?"

Arthur's face was hurt, his eyes resigned. "Do you really think that of me, Merlin?"

Merlin fidgeted, wincing as he did so. "Yes! Maybe…" He sighed. "No. I'm sorry."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't care about that, Merlin. I just want to know why you seem to think it's perfectly acceptable for you to give your life for mine."

And then everything came into clear focus. Arthur was angry at Merlin not because he seemed to think it was his job to protect the prince (which it was, not that Arthur could know that), but because Merlin had nearly _died_ in the process. He was scared, worried, angry, because Merlin had put himself in harm's way to save his life.

"Arthur?" Arthur looked up. "I'm sorry."

Arthur chuckled weakly. "Why?"

"I'm sorry I put you through this. I'm sorry I said you didn't care. And I'm sorry…"

He hesitated and Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Sorry for what?"

"And I'm sorry that if something like this happens ever again, that I'll put you through it again."

"Merlin—"

"Arthur, I'm serious. If it comes down to a choice between my life and yours, there's no contest. Because you may be an egotistical, obnoxious prat, but you're also the prince and your life is worth a thousand of mine."

"That's not true—"

"But it is. I'm sorry, Arthur, but if the choice has to be made, I will always choose you over me. It's not up for debate. I know you think I'm just a servant and that I have no obligation to risk my life for you, but you're wrong. And it's not because it's my duty as a servant, but my duty as a friend." Arthur's mouth opened but Merlin interrupted again; he was on a roll now. "You will be a great king someday, Arthur – you'll have to be, you're the only option they've got –" Arthur chuckled lightly. "—but if you die, how are you going to be king? Don't think I did it just for you, Arthur. Because I certainly did do it for you, but I also did it for Camelot. So don't go getting a big – or should I say, big_ger_ – head!"

Arthur stared at the servant for a few moments before responding. "You've got your mind set on thinking you have to protect me, don't you?"

Merlin nodded. "I know you're the great Prince Prat and you don't think you need protection, but obviously that's not always the case. And if it's in my power to help you, well… you'll just have to deal with it. This is one thing that's never going to change. It's indisputable."

Arthur grinned and arched an eyebrow. "What a big word, Merlin!" He sighed jokingly. "If only you knew what it means."

Merlin pretended to be offended. "Of course I do – it means that as long as I'm around, no sorcerer will ever get the best of you because they'll have to get through me first!"

Arthur laughed. "Just keep telling yourself that, Merlin. Heaven help us all if the fate of Camelot ever rests upon your shoulders."

Merlin smirked at the irony. _Oh, Arthur, if only you knew…_

He sighed and felt his eyelids drooping as exhaustion – both physical and emotional – from the confrontation with Arthur began to catch up to him. Arthur noticed and helped him lie back down. Merlin smiled sleepily up at the prince and muttered, "How long have you been here?"

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "On and off as much as I could over the past two days since… it happened."

Merlin shifted, grimaced, and then grinned. "Never knew you cared so much, Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't."

"If you say so, Arthur."

"I do!"

"Good," Merlin muttered blearily, the pain in his chest dimming as consciousness began to fade. He really needed to sleep…

He was just about to slip over the fine line between reality and dreams when he heard Arthur's voice, this time much gentler. "Merlin?"

"Mmm?" He couldn't find the energy to verbally respond.

"Thank you."

A peaceful smile ghosted over Merlin's face as he drifted into sleep. _You're welcome, Arthur._

Perhaps Arthur wasn't that much of a prat, after all.

* * *

**A/N: Well there it was – hopefully it had enough for you – angst, humor, bromance, tension, friendship… Well, I tried to put it all in there, at least! Please review and let me know what you thought of this trilogy finale! :)**

**NEXT TIME – abnormous – Little Merlin's mother talks to him, tries to explain to her young son that he is different and special.**

**Please review and I'll have the next one up as soon as I'm able! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	18. Abnormous

**A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews, guys! :) I'm so touched! Please continue to review! Also, I've discovered a way to get more writing done in less time – disconnect the Internet while I'm writing so that I'm not tempted to procrastinate writing stories to read fan-fiction or watch Merlin videos on YouTube. Haha – third chapter I've written today; I'm on a roll. XD **

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Eighteen: Abnormous**

**_abnormous, _**_adj.  
(ab-NOR-muss)  
Not normal; irregular_

"It's not fair."

Hunith sighed as her eight-year-old son sat at their crudely crafted table, arms crossed over his thin chest, glaring balefully at his soup. Honestly, why the child was taking his frustration out on the stew was beyond his beyond-stressed mother – true, crops hadn't been as productive this year and it was a bit thinner than Merlin was used to, but it was nothing to scowl about. She sighed, knowing that her son's irritation was not at his food but at something else entirely.

She sat down across from him, eyes slightly misted as she watched her boy slowly swill his soup around with a spoon. "Eat, Merlin. I won't have you fading away over the winter." As her child began to pick at the food, she asked the question that she already knew the answer to. "What's not fair?"

"That I have magic and no one else does." He sighed mournfully. "I always have to be careful what I say, even to Will, and everyone thinks I'm weird anyway. I'm a monster."

Hunith snapped to attention, eyes roving her son's pale, thin face with a messy shag of black hair hanging around it and dangling just above his ocean eyes. Her voice intense, tears already forming in her own eyes, his mother snapped, "_No, Merlin._ Don't you say that. Don't you _ever_ say that."

Merlin looked down at his bowl, anywhere but his mum's eyes. It was so hard for the boy to tell her how he was feeling. He was so scared, scared of what he could do, of what he might do, afraid he'd accidentally tell Will when they were pretending to be knights or when Will decided to play a game where their deepest secrets were revealed. He was scared of who he was. The feeling had increased dramatically over the past few years; when he had first been old enough to understand what it meant to have magic and began to exercise a bit of control over it (although not much), he had thought it was the most exciting thing ever.

He had been warned over and over again that he couldn't tell anyone, not even his closest friends, about his magic, though, because it could be dangerous for all of them. At first the idea of having a juicy secret just between he and his mother had been terribly exciting for the four-year-old. After a year or so, though, as he grew older and closer to Will, the splendor of such a secret began to morph into a burden as he couldn't tell anyone except his mother about the most important secret in his life. The enthusiasm of being the only one in Ealdor with magic had long since faded into a kind of seclusion. He was close to no one except Will, and even with his best friend he had put up a wall. He was afraid to let anyone in and had decided that it was because he was so different.

A freak.

"It's 'kay, Mum," Merlin tried to reassure her, not wanting to see his mother upset. She had a hard enough time as it was; even at his tender age Merlin could see that. He hated seeing people suffer and he knew that suffering didn't always mean physical pain – but when your feelings hurt, too.

"Merlin," Hunith said earnestly as she took her child's small, smooth hands in her own calloused ones and looked him straight in the eyes. Those intense, azure eyes that could change to a pure, liquid gold in a beat of a heart. She had to make him understand, make him see that what he possessed was not a curse, but a gift. He was right to be wary of his talents, but to _fear _them? That could only lead to bitter consequences. "You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of."

The child's eyes filled with involuntary tears. "Then how come I have to hide from everyone? If I'm so special, why do I have to pretend I'm the same as everyone else?"

"To protect you!" his mother insisted fervently. "To keep you safe – these are dangerous times, Merlin!"

"It's dangerous 'cuz everyone wants to hurt people with magic!" Merlin countered. "People hate it and I can't tell because then they'd hate me."

"Merlin, being special is _nothing_ to be ashamed of!" Her eyes were dreamy as she gazed at her boy, her special, _special_ boy. "You have so much potential, so much power, but that's not even why you are so special – it's because of your heart, your kindness, your compassion… and that, with your gifts, makes you the most extraordinary person I know."

Merlin's eyes were shining with a mixture of tears and hope as he replied, "I… am?"

Hunith smiled. "The reason why magic is feared is because people do not understand it. Some have used it for very bad things, Merlin. But you haven't, and I know one day you will get the chance to prove to the world that magic can be wielded by the gentlest of souls." Her reassuring smile grew a bit watery. "You have a great destiny ahead of you, my boy."

Cerulean eyes gazed up in wonder at the woman he wanted to be like someday (except without the "woman" part, of course, as he'd say whenever he told his mum he wanted to be just like her). "What is it?" He was breathless with anticipation.

Laughing softly, Hunith tapped his little nose with her pointer finger and he scrunched it up automatically at the touch. "I don't know. But I do know it's going to be bigger, and better, and different than any other destiny out there."

"How can you know?"

"Because," Hunith answered as she got up and crossed to Merlin's side of the table, enveloping her "baby" in the warm embrace only a mother can give, "I know _you_."

Merlin's eyes were wide and he grinned. "So… what you're saying is that I can't tell anyone 'cuz then they'd be jealous of how awesome I am?"

Hunith laughed out loud at her son's interpretation of her deep, wisdom filed words and kissed the top of his head. "I'm saying that being different, that not being normal, is the greatest gift a person could have. You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of."

Growing serious once more, the young wizard asked, "And I won't have to hide forever?"

"No," Hunith replied and somehow she knew that this would be true. Someday, Merlin would be revered for who he was, what he would be. What he could be.

She was lost in thought and was caught off-guard when two skinny arms wrapped around her neck and a soft voice whispered in her ear, "Love you, mum."

Smiling contentedly, Hunith returned the embrace. All of the stress, the worry, the heartache, the uncertainty of raising a young warlock by herself in such dangerous times… All of it was worth it at times like these.

Breathing in the fresh, outdoorsy scent of the boy she was so proud of, she murmured into his raven hair, "I love you too, son."

* * *

**A/N: Hopefully you enjoyed it! Please review and let me know what you thought, 'kay? XD**

**NEXT TIME – caustic – Morgana gives Arthur a piece of her mind about how he treats Merlin.**

**Please review and I'll update soon!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	19. Caustic

**A/N: So sorry for the long wait, guys. It's been super busy! :) This takes place during season 1, sometime after _The Gates of Avalon_ and before _The Moment of Truth._ You know, before Morgana began her perpetual downward spiral of doom into evilness and she-witchiness. LOL. Now enjoy! XD Thanks for all the reviews – and please continue to do so! XD**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Nineteen: Caustic**

_caustic, **adj.  
**(KAW-stik)  
Severely critical or sarcastic _

"You really _are_ completely useless, aren't you, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin rolled his eyes a bit irritably as he stooped down to pick up the armload of his master's equipment and weapons he had been carrying down to the training field. Normally he would take Arthur's teasing just as lightly as Arthur meant it but for some reason Arthur had been exceedingly obnoxious today with his insults and jibes. Merlin didn't know how many times he had been called _idiot, stupid, useless,_ and _irritating_ today. In all honesty, he wasn't at all impressed with Arthur's range of insults – after all, one would think that someone who had grown up with a royal tutor would be able to think of more creative adjectives – and it was starting to frazzle his nerves.

It was no secret that Arthur was in a bad mood today – everyone seemed to be steering clear of him. He had had an argument with his father over some sort of matter of state – a matter that Arthur had seen fit to tell Merlin was far too _sophisticated_ for his servant to possibly hope to understand. Merlin knew that Arthur was just angry and that there were precious few people he could express that to – and he certainly couldn't go taking it out on the source of the problem, considering that source was the king, but all the same, some of the degrading, sarcastic insults were bringing him down.

"Sorry, sire," he gritted out as he began to march along in front of Arthur, "but perhaps I wouldn't have dropped it if you hadn't been telling me what an _oaf _I am while I was trying to concentrate on walking."

Arthur snorted. "Right. And you tripping all over your feet and spilling my things on the dirty ground doesn't prove my point?"

Merlin took in a deep, calming breath. "Arthur, I know you're angry but—"

Arthur's hand suddenly landed heavily on his shoulder, startling his servant and causing him to drop the armor once more. Arthur only spared the mess an exasperated sigh and glare before turning his burning gaze onto his servant. "You, _Mer_lin," he snarled, "don't know _anything_. You don't understand the affairs of nobles and you never will. Don't presume that you have any knowledge about what goes on between my father and myself. You are a _servant_, nothing more."

"Arthur—" Merlin tried to keep the hurt out of his voice but it was difficult.

"You know what, Merlin? Just forget about training today. Go… do whatever it is you do in your spare time. Don't forget to bring me dinner later – and I want it _on time_ today."

Merlin pressed his lips together in a fine line before nodding jerkily and walking away.

Across the courtyard, someone had observed the whole scene and her eyes narrowed as Prince Arthur ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before stalking off in the direction of the castle, leaving the fallen weapons lying on the ground. Pursing her lips, she pulled aside a passing guard and told him to take the equipment to the armory before swiftly moving to follow the prince.

She had decided it was about time to have a talk with his royal rudeness.

* * *

Arthur sank down into one of his dining chairs, his head pounding. He was so irritated – and yes, _angry_ even – but not at Merlin. No, he was still seething because his father was considering venturing into King Cenred's kingdom despite the shaky accord they had with the man in order to search for some sorcerers that were said to have been taking refuge there for a few weeks. He had tried to make his father see reason – that there was no point in risking war with another nation because of a rumor of magic – but where magic was involved, Arthur was learning that there was _no_ reasoning with his father. Uther just despised it so much.

After the meeting with the council, Arthur had found Merlin in his room, making his bed. Merlin had greeted him with a much too chipper "How'd it go?" and Arthur's anger had roared to life. He had told Merlin not to be an idiot and to keep his nose out of business that didn't concern him. Merlin hadn't seemed to be too taken aback by the tone but hadn't called him a prat, either. It had continued throughout the day, Merlin's retorts getting shorter and more clipped with each outburst of his master's irritation until finally they were both so sick of each other that Arthur had given him the evening off.

And now here he was, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows resting on his thighs and head in his hands, trying and failing to ward off the beginnings of a horrid headache. He was so entrapped in his own thoughts that he jumped and nearly fell out of his chair as someone knocked on his door. Regaining his senses and trying to gather up what was left of his dignity, Arthur stood and bade the visitor to come in.

It was Morgana.

"Morgana. What a wonderful surprise…" He smirked. "I think."

Morgana was apparently in no mood for jesting. That was okay, though, because Arthur wasn't really either. He had just tried to make a joke to ease the tension that he could sense in his father's ward. He wasn't sure what had gotten Morgana riled up this time but he certainly didn't want one of her lectures turned on him.

"Arthur, you really don't realized how cruel you can be sometimes, do you ?"

Arthur blinked and brought a hand up to rub his forehead. Like it or not, it seemed, one of Morgana's passionate lectures seemed to be inevitable. He tried to prepare himself to nod a lot, pretend to care, and maybe even say a begrudging "I'm sorry."

"Morgana, you're going to have to be a _little_ more specific than that. I honestly have no idea what I've done to offend you this time."

"Not me," Morgana shook her head. "Merlin."

Arthur was surprised that, of all people, _Mer_lin was the reason behind Morgana's unexpected visit. "Merlin?" he repeated blankly. "What about him?" He groaned. "Oh no, he tripped flattened one of the merchants' chickens again, didn't he?"

Morgana quirked an eyebrow. "You shouldn't joke about that – you know how upset he was about that."

Arthur laughed. "I don't see what the big deal was – it was just a chicken."

"Merlin has a kind heart," Morgana reminded him sternly. "He doesn't like to cause pain to other creatures, no matter how significant. An admirable quality."

Arthur rolled his eyes heavenward. "I know, I know, Morgana – 'he's a lover, not a fighter.'"

Morgana's eyes flashed. "Exactly." Arthur stared at her, now completely at a loss as to where this was going. "You really don't get it, do you , Arthur?"

Arthur looked at her blankly. "Er… what am I supposed to be getting, exactly?"

"That you are an arrogant, spoilt prince!" Her voice softened considerably. "Arthur, I saw what happened between you and Merlin today in the courtyard. You weren't just joking with Merlin – you were being cruel. There's a fine line between sarcasm and treating someone like they're dirt beneath your feet and you definitely crossed it today. Arthur, did you even _notice_ how much your words hurt Merlin?"

Arthur felt a pang of guilt but shoved it away. "Morgana, I think I know how to handle my own servant—"

Morgana took a step closer, her voice rising in pitch and intensity. "No, Arthur, I don't think you do. You treat Merlin like he's expendable, make fun of him, call him names, and act like he's not worthy of breathing the same air you do!"

Arthur fumed, taken aback by her words. That was_ not _true and he told Morgana so.

"Not all the time, no," she admitted. "But times like this, when you're mad about something and he's the only one you feel you can take it out on… Arthur, you really hurt him today. Do you _really_ think what you said is true? That he's nothing but a simple servant? Because let me remind you, Arthur, if it wasn't for that _simple servant_, you wouldn't be here today."

Again the guilt returned and Arthur fought the urge to investigate his shoes. Morgana's critical gaze was becoming hard to meet. "Not only did he pull you out of the way of a knife but he willingly drank _poison _for you, Arthur Pendragon. You saved him, yes, and it was very noble, but the point remains that he fully intended to _die_ for you. And on top of that, he lied to the _king_ for you, Arthur, took the blame for your own irresponsibility when you were so smitten with Sophia that you couldn't string three coherent words together."

Her voice lowered. "Merlin ended up in the stocks. That wasn't so bad – but you didn't hear what I heard Uther say the first time Merlin took the blame for your actions. I was outside of the throne room and I heard the whole thing – he said that if it were a time of war he would have had Merlin _flogged_."

Arthur's face paled. "He actually threatened-?"

Morgana half-smiled at Arthur's angry reaction. "Arthur, I know you're a good man. And I know you care about Merlin. You need to stop taking out your anger on him, get over your stubborn, idiotic pride, and start behaving like the prince you are!"

Arthur couldn't help but goad her a bit. "And if I don't?"

Morgana took a step forward with a determined gleam in her eyes. "Then I will make your life a living _hell_," she enunciated slowly.

Arthur tried his best not to gulp at the threat. He wasn't afraid of Morgana – of course not, what man was afraid of a _girl_? – but still, he knew that she meant business. As he looked back on the words he had spoken to Merlin today the guilt returned full-force. He _had_ been rather relentless and harsh with his jibes. He had just been so fed up with his father's stubbornness when it came to magic that he had taken it out on the first person he ran into that he could – that happened to be Merlin. Now that he really thought about it, Morgana was right. Merlin had done so much for him and for Camelot and continued to show incredible loyalty. And Arthur had no doubt that Merlin enjoyed their banter – although he'd never admit it, Arthur did too – but like Morgana had said, there was a fine line between teasing and being cruel. Perhaps he _had_ been a little harsh on Merlin.

Rolling his eyes dramatically, the prince of Camelot muttered, "_Fine_. I'msorry."

Morgana cupped a hand to her ear, smiling brightly. "Could you speak up and not mumble, Arthur? I didn't catch that?"

Arthur grumbled. "I _said_ I'm sorry."

Morgana smirked. "Well, that's a start. But it's not _me_ you need to apologize to, is it, Arthur?"

Arthur made a face. "You _do_ know that you are _extremely _irritating, right?"

"So you've told me," Morgana responded dryly, eyes twinkling. "Now stop sulking."

Arthur glared at her. "You know what I just found?" he asked sarcastically.

"What?"

"The door," Arthur deadpanned, stalking over to it and opening it wide.

Morgana narrowed her eyes but she was smiling as she swept from the room. Right before she left, though, Arthur grabbed her arm. "Morgana? I… thanks."

Grinning, she nodded and went on her way, watching discreetly from around a corner as Arthur left his room and began heading in the general direction of the court physician's chambers. Knowing that what she had said to Arthur had really sunk in, she turned on her heel and strode away.

Her work here was done.

* * *

**A/N: That was fun to write LOL. Gotta love Arthur and Morgana sibling tiffs, am I right? Please review and let me know your thoughts. :D Once again, I'm really sorry for the wait. Hopefully the next one won't be so long. **

**NEXT TIME – swagger – Merlin steals Arthur's "cool" and Gwaine tries to teach him how to be cool again. Arthur's awesomeness is now in Merlin's hands.**

**Hee hee, it's gonna be fun. Not sure exactly how long the wait will be this time but hopefully not as bad as the last one. :D Please review!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	20. Swagger

**A/N: You've probably noticed that I changed this chapter's word and plot. Don't worry, I still plan on doing the Gwaine and Merlin and pesky pixie plot, but I am not inspired with it at all right now. I'll post that one at a later time. So… This is a very silly scene that was concocted after watching a VERY silly show on Nickelodeon called "Big Time Rush" with my little sister. So sorry for the long wait, you guys. *shifty eyes* Real life has been kicking my butt lately. School plus being sick (again) means a very busy Emachinescat. :) Thanks for the amazing response to the last story and to this work in general! This takes place sometime after the third season since Gwaine's in Camelot and is a pure crack!fic which I enjoyed writing more than you'll ever know. XD Please continue to review and ENJOY! ;)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Twenty: Swagger **

_swagger, **v.  
**(SWAG-er)  
To walk or strut with a defiant or insolent air; elegantly fashionable **[Note: In this case 'swagger' is being used in an unorthodox way, almost as a noun, to describe Prince Arthur's cool and arrogant and awesome demeanor. It is not generally used in this form but as the idea of Arthur losing his "swagger" is key to this story, silliness and poetic license will be employed. That is all. Read – now! Go on. After this introduction, you know you want to.] **_

It is just like any other day in Camelot. Gaius is in his chambers, mixing some potions like the fate of the world rests in the bowl of sorrel and hogs wart he's crushing when the door to his room suddenly crashes open and he jumps, spilling essence of sheep brain all over the floor (because what potion isn't complete without a dash of sheep's brain?). He already has the customary "Merlin!" reprimand on the tip of his tongue when he realizes that it's the prince that has so unceremoniously burst into his quarters. Arthur's face is a bit pale and his hair disheveled and Gaius is immediately concerned. What has happened?

"Sire?" he asks almost tentatively. "What on earth happened?"

"Ga – Ga – Gaius!" Arthur stammers breathlessly and trips over a crack in the floor, landing flat on his face (which is now flushing with embarrassment). "You have to help me! I'm losing it, it's leaving, I can feel it flowing from my body as we speak! I'm fading, Gaius… FADING! I'll be gone before morning… You have to do something! I've lost it!" He whimpers melodramatically and climbs unsteadily to his feet.

Gaius is confused. "What?" he asks slowly, as if talking to a very disturbed individual (because perhaps he is).

"My swagger!" Arthur moans dramatically, collapsing onto the patient bed clumsily.

Gaius stares. "Your… what?"

"No!" Arthur snaps rather irritably. "Not my 'what,' my 'swagger,' aren't you listening?"

Gaius rolls his eyes. "I _meant_, what are you talking about, sire?"

Arthur flops his head back onto his pillow. "My swagger – my style, my cool, my confidence, my air of awesomeness, everything that makes me _the_ Arthur Pendragon! _He_ stole it from me!" He doesn't elaborate on who "he" is and Gaius has more important questions to ask at the moment… like if Arthur has lost his mind?

Gaius looks at the young prince sympathetically. Perhaps the pressure of being heir to the throne has finally gotten to him and he has cracked? "Arthur, are you sure you're not just imagining things? The mind is a powerful tool, sire. It can convince you something is happening even when it is not. I'm sure you're just as, er, 'cool' as always."

Arthur sighs in desperation. "No, Gaius – I'm serious! I have lost my swagger. I am no longer Arthur and I am going to slowly fade until there is nothing of me… I won't last the night."

Gaius frowns. He needs someone who can boost Arthur's suddenly low morale. Smiling, an idea comes to him. "If you are concerned that you have lost your 'swagger,' Your Highness," he suggests, "then why don't we find someone who can teach it to you again?"

Arthur pops up. "That just might work. Who would you suggest?"

"Well…"

* * *

"Okay, so you've lost your cool, eh? Lesson number one – you have to get your strut back."

Arthur glares at Gwaine. "I don't _strut_."

Gwaine snorts. "Right. And I don't drink."

Arthur's steaming look tries to send visions of torment and death into Gwaine's soul but the knight simply snorts and comments, "Wow, you really have lost your style. Normally that glower would at least make my spine tingle, but…" he pauses, shifts, and grunts, "…nope, nothing. We've got some serious work to do." He looks pointedly at his prince. "Starting with your 'strut.'"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Fine. My 'strut.' What do I do?"

Gwaine walks to the other side of Arthur's chambers and turns around like a supermodel on a runway (sure, they had supermodels in that time period… what do you think Leon does in his spare time? Don't think that the great escape from Morgana's Camelot was the first time he's worn a dress) before quite literally strutting across the floor, head held high, arms at sides, each step simply bleeding _coolness_. Just the sight of that manly swagger will surely send an innumerable amount of fan-girls (and maybe even a few fan-boys) into crazy fits of swooning and maniacal giggles. Even Arthur feels a little light-headed at the sheer awesomeness of Gwaine's presentation. _That_ was style. Surely he can do it.

Arthur takes a step. His head jerks forward and then crashes back. His hands are perched on his hips awkwardly and he takes another step, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He only makes it two more paces before Gwaine stops him, bewildered. This is _much _worse than he had anticipated.

"Arthur," he says slowly, "you look like a drunken chicken with its head cut off."

Arthur groans. "I knew it – it's hopeless! My swagger, it's really gone!" He pales. "I feel faint!" He passes out in a _very _melodramatic fashion.

Gwaine snorts. This is going to be a _long_ evening.

* * *

"Alright, now, we're going to work on your appearance. Back straight. Chin high – no, don't bend over backwards, just tilt it up a bit – poke out your lower lip a bit… not that far, you look like a cave man! … cross your arms over your chest, put a stern look on your face, lean against the wall… and present yourself as suave and sophisticated."

Arthur does what Gwaine says and Gwaine has to facepalm while holding in peals of almost uncontrollable laughter. "Arthur, I said 'suave and sophisticated,' not 'suave and constipated,'" Gwaine points out airily.

Arthur fumes before sliding down the wall and curling his knees into himself. "There's no point," he moans. "I'm no longer the coolest guy in Camelot. I may as well _die_ now."

Gwaine scratches his head. "Well… there's always one more lesson we can try." He grins deviously.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Arthur hisses in Gwaine's ear as a pretty serving girl whose name Arthur doesn't know walks by. He's not interested in her – in another pretty serving girl, actually – but he needs to boost his confidence, remember how to flirt and talk to the ladies without being reduced to a shriveling pile of… Merlin. The thought of his servant makes Arthur smirk and then fill with anger. He would pay…

"Go on, mate – use the pick-up line I gave you and you can't go wrong!"

Arthur bites his lip. "Okay…" He takes a deep breath, stumbles forward, and nearly knocks the girl over. Her eyes widen.

"Your Highness." She curtsies.

Arthur bites his lip. "Er… if I had… a gold piece for how… er… beautiful you are… I'd be… poor?" He is flustered and Gwaine smacks his forehead again.

The girl blinks. "Thanks for the confidence boost, _sire_," she says coldly and stalks off. Gwaine hurries to Arthur, who is standing forlornly in the middle of the street.

"It was _supposed _ to be 'If I got a gold piece every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I'd only have one gold piece.' Not… whatever that was." He sighs. "I'm sorry, Arthur – there's nothing more I can do."

Arthur's lip quivers. "Then all is lost… unless…"

He hurries back into the castle toward Gaius's chambers.

* * *

Arthur is lying on the sick bed in Gaius's chambers, his face drastically pale, his breathing labored. Gaius hovers over him, absolutely baffled at the prince's mysterious malady. He has examined the prince and nothing is wrong with him physically – well, apart from the fact that he seems to be dying. _That _could prove to be a rather sizeable problem, but Gaius just can't seem to figure out what is causing Arthur's illness.

"Arthur, tell me again what you believe happened to you," the physician says as he mixes a foul-smelling potion that probably won't work but he has decided to try anyway.

"I told you," Arthur gasps feebly, "_he_ came into work this morning and he was… there's no other word for it… _cool_. He was strutting around my room like he owned the place. He was dressed so flashily, and everyone's eyes were on _him_ as we walked around the castle. No one looked twice at me. Even…" he coughs, "…even my father complimented him on how 'dashing' he looked and you know my… father…" His voice is rough. "The only person my father says is handsome is himself."

Gaius nods gravely, mulling this information over. "This _is_ true, my lord. Your father prides himself on being the most handsome in the land."

"But he's not!" Arthur snaps. "_I_ am. Or at least I was. Until…"

Gaius's eyebrows climb steadily and Arthur finds himself on the verge of cowering from their awesome power. No one's eyebrows should be able to rise to such commanding heights. "Until what, sire?"

Arthur's voice is hoarse and his eyes haunted. "Not what, Gaius. Who." He reaches forward, grasps Gaius by the collar of his robes, and drags the old man close to his death bed. "_Merlin_," he whispers before falling back to the cot in exhaustion.

Gaius's eyes go wide. That _boy!_ He had warned him just last night that using magic to make himself "cooler" would only result in a disaster. At that moment, the offending warlock bursts through the door, his clothing made of the finest threads and wearing a dark leather jacket of a caliber even Arthur has never worn. He's not alone. A laughing Gwen is clinging to his right arm, eyes batting flirtatiously as she gazes upon his sheer awesomeness, and Morgana, who had been sneering at Merlin just the night before with disdain, is now gripping his arm, a puddle of girly infatuation.

"Hey Gaius," Merlin says, grinning a smile that almost makes Gaius himself weak at the knees. _How powerful was that coolness spell, anyway?_ Gaius asks himself in amazement. "How do I look?"

Before Gaius can even process what the question was, Morgana and Gwen both jump to answer.

"You look like you were sculpted by the gods themselves," Gwen breathes.

Morgana rolls her eyes. "Is that the best you can do, Gwen?" She caresses Merlin's face. "You look _hot_."

Merlin smiles but doesn't exactly look comfortable with all the praise. Gaius feels some hope – perhaps there is more of the old Merlin left than he thought! The idea is confirmed when Merlin looks over at the sickbed and sees a fading Arthur lying there, pale as the grave and the most ordinarily bland that Merlin has ever seen him. Worry flits across his face before he turns to his entourage. "Ladies," he says suavely, and both Morgana and Gwen swoon. "Why don't you run along? I'll see you later."

Both lady and maidservant whined but did as the apple of their eyes asked. Merlin spins on Gaius. "What's wrong with Arthur?"

Arthur is the one who answers, his voice barely above a whisper. "You stole… my… swagger."

Merlin is supremely confused. "I stole your… what?"

Arthur doesn't answer but continues his previous thought. "As you grow… stronger… I grow… weaker… I'll be gone… before… morning…" He passes out, inches from death.

Merlin turns to face the physician. "Gaius, please, you have to do something to help him! What's happening?"

Gaius sighs. "I warned you not to use magic to make yourself cooler, Merlin. The consequences could be dire – although they were much more dire than even I could have foreseen."

Merlin's face turns almost as pale as Arthur's. "You mean… _I_ did this?"

Gaius nods grievously. "Just like with the Cup of Life, the Cauldron of Coolness has powers that should not be reckoned with. Just as with the power of life and death, there must be a death for there to be life, so it is with 'swagger'. For there to be awesomeness made, awesomeness must be taken. And much like your magic is not just a tool but is who you _are_, a part of your very soul, Arthur's swagger, his coolness, is his."

"I was getting tired of being so amazing anyway," Merlin confides hurriedly as he glances over his shoulder at Arthur's pathetic form. "Not a moment of peace, the girls constantly fighting over me and trying to steal my clothes – they took my sock without taking off my shoe; _how did they do that?_" the horrified wizard asks, clearly disturbed by some of the fangirlish attention he has received today.

"Merlin – focus please," Gaius admonishes.

"Right – what I was saying is that it's not all it's cracked up to be, I guess. I was smothered by adoring fans and people I didn't even know. I mean, _Uther_ even asked me where I got my jacket and wanted me to refer him to my barber!" He rubs his temples. "I don't know how Arthur does it all the time, Gaius. And if he's dying because of my own selfish whim, then I'll never forgive myself. So I must give up my coolness for him." He snaps his fingers and suddenly Gaius is struck by how… normal and not-cool Merlin looks.

Arthur leaps instantly out of the bed, cooler than ever, eyes sparkling with that gleam that sent shivers down girls' spines. He struts across the room and squeals (in a very manly voice, of course), "My _swagger!_ It's back!" He glares at Merlin and the warlock gulps. "And _you_, _Mer_lin, are going to clean every single one of the stalls in every stable on the palace grounds, and you are going to regret ever trying to be cooler than me!"

Merlin shrinks back a little. "But… I wasn't…"

"I'm the coolest man in Camelot, Merlin! Me! I have swagger and you don't!" Arthur snarls. Then he grins. "After you're covered in horse dung from the stables, there will be no doubt in anyone's mind who is the most awesome. _Then _you can have the rest of the night off."

Merlin looks like Christmas has come early. "Really? Thanks, Arthur!"

He walks outside to find that it is pitch black. He'd forgotten how late it was – it is already past the time he should be getting off of work. He can hear Arthur laughing from behind him, having followed his servant to the courtyard. "Gee, _thanks_ Arthur," Merlin gripes as he realizes he's been duped into thinking Arthur had actually done something nice for him.

"You're welcome, _Mer_lin," Arthur replies too cheerily. "You're most certainly welcome."

Merlin grits his teeth and decides that he might actually deserve this. He did, after all, almost kill Arthur – but it's not like he meant to! Glancing back at his doubled-over-from-laughing 'destiny' Merlin finds himself wondering if Arthur would still be the coolest in Camelot if he were, say, a horny-eyed toad or a light green inch-worm. The enticing thought swirling around uselessly in his mind, Merlin goes to do his extra chores, this time with a slightly happier step to his gait.

The possibilities are endless.

* * *

**A/N: I know Arthur was a bit mean at the end, but even if he didn't know that Merlin was directly responsible, he'd probably still be mad because he almost died from uncoolness while Merlin lived his life of splendor. LOL. Plus, it's a crack!fic, LOL. Hope you enjoyed (I sure did). Oh and the "they took my socks without taking off my shoes - how did they do that?" is from the Disney show JONAS. It was just too good to pass up! :) Also, my roommate Cat gets the credit for the "cool, suave, and constipated" quote. She's pretty epic. XD**

**NEXT TIME – zoosemiotics – Merlin gains the ability to talk to animals for a day.**

**Please REVIEW! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	21. Zoosemiotics

**A/N: Once again, sorry for the wait. I know it's been a stretch between updates lately, and it will probably be this way for another 3 weeks or so, but then it will be my summer break! :) Thanks so much for all the reviews for the last story, hee hee. Gotta love some crack!fic to lighten things up. This one isn't a crack!fic but it's not terribly serious, either. It takes place during the third season, around the time of Goblin's Gold, I'll say. Please review! :)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Zoosemiotics **

_zoosemiotics, **n.  
**(zoh-UH-see-mee-OT-iks)  
The study of animal communication_

Merlin was woken up by a high-pitched, unfamiliar voice piping a series of rather rude comments in the form of a wakeup call. "Oi! Lazy! Yeah, I'm talking to you! Get your good-for-nothing backside out of bed and get to work!"

Merlin rolled over, groaned, and muttered, "Go away, Arthur." He was still too sleepy to realize that this could not be the prince since because of the high, familiar tone and because Arthur wouldn't have a reason to be in his room anyway. All his tired mind knew was that the obnoxious tone and biting insults sounded a _lot_ like the ones his master tended to use.

The voice came again. "I'm not Arthur, you twit! Honestly, I don't know why I bother waking you every morning!"

Merlin sat up slowly, scrubbing his eyes tiredly as his mind became a little less befuddled. He looked around his tiny room, the corners of his mouth curled downward fractionally. There was no one there. _Great,_ he thought sarcastically, _I'm hearing voices in my head… again._

The only beings that he knew of that spoke directly into his mind was the dragon and the druids. He knew it wasn't the dragon because that was certainly _not _Kilgharra's gravelly voice, and it wasn't the voice of any druid he knew – not that he knew too many druids, anyway, though. He let his eyes explore his room once more, trying without success to find the source of the grumpy little phantom that claimed to wake Merlin up every morning. The only person that ever made Merlin get up in the mornings was Gaius (who this was most definitely _not_), that is, unless the little blue bird that liked to perch on his windowsill and chirp in the mornings hadn't woken him first.

The _bird_.

Merlin knew it was stupid, but he let his eyes flicker to his small window where, sure enough, that same little blue bird was sitting, looking at him with a strange expression on its face. Wait, that wasn't right… birds didn't have facial expressions… did they? And yet this bird looked strangely amused as it regarded the warlock that was now rising out of bed and moving cautiously toward the window.

"Uh… hello?" he said hesitantly, immediately deciding that he had _completely_ lost his mind because here he was, seriously trying to strike up a conversation with a _bird_.

"Hullo," the bird said chipperly and Merlin jumped back with a shout. The little creature shot him a strange look and hopped a few steps. "What're _you_ so jumpy about, smart one?" it asked as Merlin gaped at it. "_You_ were the one who said hello to me first, were you not?"

Merlin simply gaped for a few moments before stammering, "Well, it's not like I actually thought you'd _respond!_" _Yes, I've gone mad – I'm arguing with a bird. Wonderful._

"Merlin, who are you talking to up there?" It was Gaius's voice coming from the main room of their chambers.

"No one!" Merlin answered quickly, causing the bird to ruffle its feathers indignantly.

"Glad I'm no one of importance then," the animal twittered irritably. "See if I ever wake you up in time again!"

"Oh come on, now, you know I didn't mean it that way!" Merlin insisted, all the while wondering why he wanted to bird to stay anyway. It was doing nothing but talking him in circles and insulting him. _ Good heavens_, he thought glumly, _it's like a combination of Kilgharra and Arthur!_

The bird made an indignant little noise but stayed where it was. "Well?" it asked rather rudely. "Is there something else you'd like to yammer on about or can I get to my breakfast? The worms are rather plump this morning, wouldn't you agree?"

"Er," Merlin said, not sure whether or not he agreed (or even if he _cared_) about the plumpness of Camelot's worms.

Seeing that Merlin wasn't going to give an intelligent answer anytime soon, the bird took flight with a quick, "See you later, then."

"Wait!" Merlin called desperately, "What's going on? Why can I talk to you?"

The bird didn't look back but Merlin heard its voice all the same and the answer wasn't very comforting. "You _really_ should do something about sleep-spelling," it said. "It's becoming a bit of a habit for you."

Merlin wasn't sure which was more disturbing – the fact that he was doing magic in his sleep or that this strange little blue bird watched him sleep enough to know about it.

With a sigh, he turned from the window and got ready for work, hoping that the weirdness was at an end.

* * *

Merlin's mind was buzzing. He had been positively shocked at the enormous volume of the courtyard on his way to Arthur's chambers. He could hear voices everywhere, loud and chatty and excited. He was confused, though, because the actual content of the conversations made little to no sense.

"Oh, did you see Gabrielle's fur the other day? It was _so_ tatty! I thought I would die!"

"Charles, dear, leave my egg alone, I'm not moving until it hatches."

"Alright, there are some people directly below – on the count of three, we aim and fire. One… two… three—"

_Splat!_

Merlin felt something gooey land on his head and he heard loud, obnoxious laughing from high above. Shocked, he glanced up to see two rather large birds flying away, cackling madly at their little prank. And that's when Merlin knew – the weirdness wasn't over. It had just begun.

* * *

Arthur had been less than impressed to see Merlin run into his chambers – late, again – with a great glob of bird poo on his head. Merlin had explained, out of breath, that the birds thought they were being funny. Arthur had simply given his servant an exasperated look before ordering him to get cleaned up and then get the gear ready. They were going hunting.

Merlin was _not_ impressed with this executive decision but had to go along with it anyway.

He went to the stables to saddle up the horses and Arthur's horse nickered softly. "Oh look, it's the idiot," the horse said.

Merlin regarded the beast flatly. "Yeah, you're definitely Arthur's horse alright."

His horse was pleased to see him and asked him for an apple. Merlin didn't have one, and told her so, and she refused to speak to him again. Merlin didn't really care, though, because it wasn't like he and his horse talked on a regular basis anyway. If they did, it was always a one-sided conversation in which Merlin was complaining about mucking out the stables. Also, he thought it might be a little weird to ride on something that could talk to him.

He tightened the girth on Arthur's horse and it said in the prattiest voice a horse could muster, "Watch it, _Mer_lin."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Great," he muttered darkly, "this trip is going to be _fun_."

* * *

"_Mer_lin, will you _stop that?_" Arthur hissed as Merlin fidgeted loudly in his saddle. The prince had a crossbow in his hand and had turned to face his servant, fire in his blue eyes.

"Stop what?" Merlin asked in an innocent tone although it was clear by the uncomfortable look on his face that he knew exactly what his master was talking about.

"We've been at this for _four hours, Mer_lin, and I haven't caught a single bloody animal! Not a deer, not a rabbit – nothing!"

"Well, how is it my fault you keep missing?" Merlin asked petulantly, knowing that he was asking for trouble by speaking to an already agitated Arthur this way but not able to keep the teasing comment contained.

"Merlin," Arthur growled.

Merlin looked down and tried to block the terrified pleas of the forest animals out of his aching head. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He wasn't a fan of hunting, anyway, and it tore at his heart to hear the fear and desperation that the rabbits felt at the idea of getting chased by the "giants" and the deer quickly trying to think of a way to escape. It also didn't help his nerves that the squirrels seemed to love chattering nonstop about nut jokes, leaping from tree to tree and spouting them out into Merlin's ears at an almost constant rate.

"Arthur, can't we just leave them alone?" Merlin mumbled softly, feeling sick to his stomach. He wished that he had pretended to be sick today so he wouldn't have to face this.

"Stop being such a _girl_, _Mer_lin. Honestly, you're even more pathetic than usual."

Merlin didn't answer. He was too busy trying to pretend that the chipmunks weren't trying to recruit him as their leader.

Arthur cursed and urged his horse on, muttering darkly about how idiotic and obnoxious Merlin was.

Merlin's horse had apparently decided to forgive him because right after Arthur disappeared from sight, his griping still audible, she snorted, "Prat."

"Couldn't've said it better myself," Merlin agreed.

"Want to ditch him?" the horse suggested.

"He'll have me mucking the stables for weeks if I do…" A squirrel in the branch directly above his head told a particularly idiotic nut joke and then threw an acorn at Merlin when he didn't laugh. "You know," Merlin said slowly, rubbing his head, "I think it might just be worth it."

* * *

As it turned out, Arthur didn't seem to care too much that Merlin had stayed behind during the rest of the hunt although his nerves were already so frazzled that he didn't catch anything anyway, which Merlin was quite glad of because he couldn't bring himself to carry the pelt of an animal that had been pleading for life only moments before.

Now as he was getting ready for bed, mind reeling from all that had happened today. Arthur was still mildly irritated but he would get over it. Gaius thought he was talking to himself. He hadn't seen the blue bird all day.

He slept surprisingly well, dreaming of magic forests and talking woodland creatures.

When he woke up the next morning, Merlin was relieved beyond words to hear chipper chirping coming from his window instead of that peppy, insulting voice. It seemed that whatever he had done in his sleep the night before had finally worn off. Thank goodness – he didn't think he could take any more of _that_!

With a sigh of relief, Merlin got ready and hurried down the stairs to greet Gaius, who glared at him. "What's going on, Gaius?" Merlin asked, perplexed as to why his guardian looked so put out at the moment.

Then he spoke. "Baa," Gaius said in a perfect imitation of a sheep being sheered.

"Oh dear," Merlin said, deciding that he _really_ needed to start searching for a cure to this "sleep-spelling."

"Baa-baa!" Gaius agreed irritably.

Merlin fought the urge to smash his head into the wall.

This was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

**A/N: Hee hee. :) I find myself wondering what my kitty cat would say if I could communicate with her. LOL.**

**NEXT TIME – vindicate – Merlin is sentenced to death for sorcery and Arthur is determined to safe him. (PART ONE)**

**Yep, another trilogy coming up! XD Please review and I'll update as soon as I can! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	22. Vindicate

**A/N: So sorry for the wait, guys! I know I left you with a pretty suspenseful teaser and that it's taken me forever to update. But the good news is that I'll be on summer break in just a little over a week! Which means… more time for writing! :) This takes place early season 3 and is the first part of another "trilogy." :0) Thanks so much for all the reviews; this fic has officially hit the 300 review marker! You guys are simply incredible! Please continue to review – that's what keeps me going! XD **

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Vindicate (PART ONE)**

_vindicate, **v.  
**(VEN-di-keyt)  
Clear someone of blame or suspicion; show or prove to be right, reasonable, or justified_

Merlin was in the process of making Arthur's bed when the guards burst into the prince's room. There was no warning, no polite knock, not even an apology as six heavily armed guards barreled into the prince's chambers. Merlin stared before snorting softly and going back to his work – Arthur (who, at the moment, was looking more than a little annoyed as he stood up from where he had been seated at his table, eating his breakfast) – shouldn't ever get onto him for barging in without knocking ever again after this.

The prince stood, his eyes narrowed and took a step forward. "_What_," he said none-too-patiently to the small group of his father's loyal men, none of whom he knew by name, "are you _doing?_"

Merlin's eyes shifted from the bed, his hands absentmindedly smoothing out the bedcovers as a tingling feeling trickled down his spine. Something was not right.

"Stand back, sire," one of the guards said, "he's dangerous."

Arthur's face crinkled in a mixture of confusion and irritation. Merlin stiffened, noticing several pairs of the guards' eyes on him and silently praying to whoever was listening that this was _not_ what he thought it was. "Who's dangerous?" Arthur snapped, clearly growing tired of this. "There's no one else in this rooms besides you, myself, and _Mer_lin, and, well, it's _obviously _not Merlin, he's too much of a _girl_ to be a threat to anyone."

He said this in Merlin's direction, his voice teasing to let Merlin know he wasn't serious – or not _completely_ serious, anyway – but Merlin barely noticed. He was too busy watching the guards begin to circle around him. He noticed for the first time that that there was rope in one of their hands and he began to back away.

Arthur, too, saw this and he growled again, this time with more force, "_What_ are you _doing?_"

"He's deceiving you, sire," the guard said, glaring at Merlin like he was nothing but a spot of dirt beneath his shoe. "He's a sorcerer!"

Merlin didn't even have a chance to see Arthur's response. The guards were on him. Merlin didn't fight back, didn't struggle as they yanked his lanky arms behind his back and bound his wrists with layer upon layer of rope. Someone grabbed the scruff of his jacket and pushed him forward. There were hands all over him, on his shoulders and arms, pushing him, holding him, preventing him from trying to escape despite the fact that Merlin wasn't trying to escape at all.

He was herded through the hallway by the guards. He could hear Arthur's voice from somewhere behind him but couldn't quite make out what the prince was saying over the din in his own mind. He didn't know if Arthur was trying to defend him or encouraging the guards to get on with the arrest. He found he didn't care at the moment. His mind was spinning and his stomach was twisted in knots. Uther had found out… _How_ had Uther found out?

As he was pulled through the corridors toward the throne room, surrounded by guards and hands tied tightly behind his back, he felt the eyes of passing servants and even a few knights on him. He knew it must be strange, seeing Prince Arthur's idiotic manservant being dragged to through the castle like a common criminal. Almost as soon as the weight of their gazes landed on him, however, they looked away. Merlin wondered briefly why this was, but then they arrived at the throne room and all other thought was swept from his mind.

* * *

Arthur followed right behind the guards, his mind reeling. He saw the way that passing people would gawk at the prisoner being marched to the king, and made sure to glare ferociously at every busybody that dared to make a spectacle out of the "sorcerer." But that was ridiculous, anyway. There was no way that _Merlin_ was a sorcerer!

Why on earth his father would think such a thing was beyond him, but considering the number of guards that had been sent to arrest him and the fact that Merlin's hands were tied so tightly that his hands were already white from the constriction to blood flow to them meant that these men were serious – which meant that his father was dead serious. They really thought that Merlin was a sorcerer. Arthur's throat was dry. He knew what that meant. It meant that Merlin was going to be sentenced to death.

_But what if he really _is _a sorcerer?_

The idea caught Arthur off-guard. He supposed it was a valid question that his subconscious had formulated, but it was not one he particularly wanted to entertain. The idea of Merlin with magic seemed absolutely ludicrous – but then again there always _had_ been something odd about Merlin, something that Arthur hadn't quite been able to figure out even after three years of the young man as his servant. His own words from the first day they had met sprang into his mind.

_"There's something about you, Merlin… I can't quite put my finger on it."_

Could it be that Merlin really _did_ have magic? Arthur forced the idea out of his mind. If Merlin was really a sorcerer, Arthur honestly still couldn't see himself standing by as Merlin was burned at the stake or beheaded. The images made Arthur shudder.

Surely this was all a mistake. But there was one thing he knew for sure – he had been Merlin's master for three years; the boy was loyal to a fault, always ready and willing to put others in front of his own life. If Merlin was evil, then the world just wouldn't make sense anymore. Why would someone evil, someone with magic, be so self-sacrificing, so true, so intensely loyal to his prince and friends? No, if magic was evil, then Merlin surely wasn't a sorcerer. His father was wrong – hopefully he would be able to persuade the king to see reason.

He didn't have further time to contemplate this any further, however, as they had reached the throne room. Arthur's stomach tightened in anticipation and fear for his frie—_servant _as the doors to the throne room were opened and the guards shoved Merlin inside none-too-gently. Arthur's face was stoic even as he was internally panicking, trying desperately to think of any way to get Merlin out of this situation. He was also seething at the callous way his servant was manhandled, shoved to the floor so hard that his knees made a resounding 'crack!' as they hit the stone floor.

Merlin was kneeling in front of the king, hands bound, eyes terrified, and Arthur could barely stand the sight. Merlin looked so vulnerable, so scared – there was no way he was a sorcerer. Surely, if he had magic, he would be using it to attempt to escape right now; he wouldn't just be on the floor looking defeated.

Arthur's fists clenched at his sides as he saw the slumped position of Merlin's back, the fear and resignation in his face. He stood to the side, his eyes roving over the council, noting that most of them looked fierce and angry. A few looked skeptical. Gaius's eyes were full of worry and sadness. Arthur couldn't bring himself to meet the old man's eyes. Gwen stood with the servants, her eyes wide and terrified, filled with tears. Arthur couldn't bear to see her so upset. He swallowed thickly and looked away.

He moved his gaze to Morgana, who sat by Uther's side, and thought that he saw the tug of a triumphant smirk on her lips, a bitter, exultant look at Merlin's arrest… but then it was gone and her face was a mask again and Arthur couldn't help but wonder if he had imagined the whole thing. He forgot about the dark gleam in Morgana's eyes a second later, though, as he caught sight of the pure hatred and anger on his father's face as the king glowered at the prisoner kneeling before him. The king looked positively murderous.

Before Uther could speak, Arthur spoke, "Father, there has been a mistake."

"Silence, Arthur," the king spat in a tone that was usually saved for criminals. Arthur almost took a step back at the harshness in his father's tone and words. "Do not defend this sorcerer, I have learned from a very reliable source that _Merlin_," he spat the name like it was a Questing Beast's venom, "is plotting to kill you with his dark, corrupted magic."

"That's ridiculous," Arthur growled. "This is _Mer_lin we're talking about here, father – the same man, if you remember, who has stood by me loyally for three years, gone to fight a dragon with me, and who _drank poison_ for me! If he has been trying to kill me, he's even more incompetent than I already thought!"

From where he was standing across from Merlin and near his father, Arthur could see a small grin tug at Merlin's lips despite the circumstances.

A few in the court looked at bit unsettled by the reminder of Merlin's loyalty as they glanced at the boy who knelt there docilely as his fate was determined. Could there be some truth in what the prince said? Why _would_ an evil sorcerer willingly drink poison for the person they were supposed to be out to murder?

Uther noticed and his expression was harder as he ground out, "It is not my job to try and decipher the twisted workings of the minds of _sorcerers_. He was probably trying to gain your trust to get close to you."

Arthur gaped. "He's been 'close' to me for three years, Father – he's my servant, he's near me almost all the time! Why would—"

"That's _enough_!" Uther raged as he turned on Merlin, who was still kneeling there, face pale as he watched father and son. "A person of great trust has informed me that she caught wind of his plot and witnessed him trying to enchant you. For that, he will pay."

"Who?" Arthur demanded, his eyes roving around the room. For some reason, Morgana avoided his gaze. "And Merlin has _never_ tried to enchant me!"

"And you would know if you had been enchanted, would you?" Uther glowered. "The bearer of this information has requested to remain anonymous as they expected such a ridiculous reaction from you, although I hoped they were wrong."

"Father, you've got this all wrong; there's no way that Merlin is a sorcerer."

Uther ignored the prince and turned to Merlin, who gazed back at him, obviously trying his hardest not to appear terrified. "You have been caught using magic in Camelot, in an attempt to murder the heir to the throne."

For the first time since being taken to the king, Merlin spoke, his voice low and respectful. "Sire, I have _never_—"

_SMACK!_

Arthur felt his blood run cold as Uther brought his hand across Merlin's thin face, striking the boy so hard that his head whipped violently to the side and he toppled sideways to the ground, dazed, unable to break his fall because of his bound hands. From somewhere nearby Arthur heard Gaius protest, his voice shaking. Gwen let out a small sob, tears running down her face. Merlin lay where he had landed, a bruise already developing on the side of his face. Arthur started to take a step forward but restrained himself, knowing that if he intervened now, he would only make things worse for Merlin.

"Do not lie to me, sorcerer!" Uther fumed. "You have been a traitor, trying to get close to my son, pretending to be loyal while all the while you were plotting his death! For that, you will be severely punished." Arthur swallowed back a protest, heart pounding, knowing what his father's next words were going to be. "You, sorcerer, have broken the laws of Camelot by practicing magic and using it for high treason – you are sentenced to death. You will be burned at the stake tomorrow at noon. Take him away!"

Merlin was yanked to his feet and dragged out of the room. Arthur stood still, waiting until everyone had filed out before turning to face his father.

Merlin was _not _going to die because of his father's blind hatred and refusal to see reason. Merlin wasn't a sorcerer; he couldn't be! Even if he was, Arthur still couldn't imagine him being evil. He opened his mouth to speak to his father, to try and prove Merlin's innocence, but he realized he didn't know much at all. He needed more information if he was going to plead Merlin's case.

And plead it he would, he thought resolutely as he closed his mouth, on the verge of yelling at his father, and turned on his heel, striding angrily out of the throne room. He was going to prove Merlin's innocence, save his servant from the pyre, despite the consequences.

Merlin was _not_ going to die tomorrow, Arthur decided, whether it meant Arthur convincing his father to let him go or Merlin mysteriously "escaping" into the night.

Merlin had been loyal to Arthur for three years – the time had come for Arthur to return the gesture and he would be damned if he let anyone, especially his blinded father, keep him from doing what was right. With resolve bubbling inside of him, he headed for the physician's chambers. He wanted to talk to Gaius and then Morgana… something about the look in her eyes when Merlin was brought in, although it could have just been a trick of the light…

And then he was going to go to the dungeons and speak to Merlin. He didn't know what was going on, but he did know that Merlin did _not_ deserve to die. He also knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was going to set this right – no matter what.

* * *

**A/N: Hee hee… I know, I'm a terrible person… :) On the bright side, though, I've had inspiration for this trilogy and I'm actually thinking about expanding it into a four-parter or maybe even five-parter…Hopefully you guys will be up for a short chapter story inside of this random collection of stories – there are some great words to correspond with the story I've got planned out, and this should be fun! :)**

**NEXT TIME - verisimilitude – Arthur tries to find out the truth; meanwhile Uther is determined to extract the truth from Merlin before his execution in any way he can. PART TWO.**

**In case you couldn't tell, this is definitely going to be an intense and serious four/five-part story-thing, but hopefully it shall keep your attention. I'll do something light and fluffy or silly after this thing's over; I figured it was time for a little more darkness after the last two goofy stories! Plus, I just love me some angst! :) Sorry to leave you with such a suspenseful teaser for the next part LOL… Please review and I'll update as soon as I can! XD **

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	23. Verisimilitude

**A/N: Hey, y'all! So sorry for the wait; real life is just starting to settle down a bit now that it's officially my summer break! ;) Warning: Some violence at the end of the chapter, nothing too graphic, but I wanted to give a heads up. :) Thanks so much for all your reviews – please continue to do so (because I am, as I'll freely admit, a review junkie, lol)… enjoy! :)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Verisimilitude (PART TWO)**

_verisimilitude, **n.  
**(ver-UH-si-MIL-i-tood)  
Something, as an assertion, having merely the appearance of being true_

"Gaius?"

The court physician sighed, more deflated than he could ever remember feeling, as Arthur stepped into his chambers a bit hesitantly, expression guarded – although Gaius could see a glimpse of worry in his eyes. "Arthur." Gaius knew his tone was a bit clipped but he didn't try to correct himself. He couldn't stop thinking about Merlin, bound and scared, kneeling before Uther, sentenced to death. This couldn't be happening – it just… couldn't. He'd warned Merlin time and again to be careful when using his magic. Honestly, though, Gaius couldn't think of when he could have been seen and he hadn't been allowed into the dungeon to speak with Merlin. This was a bit odd within itself; normally as physician and advisor to the king, he had no problem getting through security into the cells. This time, though, he had been told that under _no_ circumstances was _anyone_ other than the king and those he _specifically _gave clearance allowed to see the prisoner. Gaius tried to tell himself that it was because Uther knew how close he was to the boy, although somehow he feared it was more than that.

"I… I'm sorry," Arthur said slowly, surprising the old healer and causing an eyebrow to raise slightly. "About Merlin," he added. "I tried to stop the guards from taking him but you know my father's personal guard… they're like his own little army. They only listen to him, not me."

Gaius raised a wrinkled hand, weary but grateful, not really wanting to talk about this now. "It is not your fault, sire." His expression grew angry as he muttered, "Although I _do_ place the blame on whoever it was that accused him of using magic to try and harm you, sire. I assure you that Merlin is innocent; he would never—"

"I know, Gaius. He wouldn't try to hurt me." Gaius noticed that while Arthur seemed adamant that Merlin wouldn't harm him, the prince hadn't said that Merlin wouldn't use magic. He wondered if perhaps the prince believed the accusations against his servant. Surely not; if he had, would he truly be here, apologizing for Merlin being arrested? Honestly, Gaius had no idea. "I know I can trust you, Gaius," the prince continued, and Gaius's eyes snapped to meet his. "As you can rest assured you can trust me."

"Sire?"

"I'm going to rescue Merlin, one way or another," Arthur whispered, glancing hastily over his shoulder as if half expecting an angry Uther to be standing right behind him. "But I'd rather do it within the law. If there is anything – _anything_ – that you can tell me, to clear his name, I _need_ to know. Because despite what my father seems to think, Merlin is _not_ an evil sorcerer." He paused before plowing onward. "And honestly, Gaius, I don't know if what's been said is true – besides the 'evil' bit; I know that's a load of wash – and at the moment, I really don't care. Actually, I'd rather _not_ know if Merlin truly has magic. If he doesn't, no harm done, and if he does, I'll deal with it _after_ I've saved his sorry behind." Gaius couldn't help but feel relief at Arthur's words – they showed how much he had matured and that he wasn't just going to make a decision about Merlin based solely on his father's beliefs.

"I understand, sire."

Arthur nodded. "Is there anything you can tell me, Gaius? Anything that my father would consider feasible proof? Apparently, whoever told him this is someone highly respected and even I will need substantial proof to convince my father that Merlin has never tried to kill or enchant me."

Gaius frowned. Oh, he had a _very_ good idea about who had told Uther but he wasn't sure how Arthur would take the news that the girl he considered a sister had caused this, if he believed it at all. True, the physician had just found relief in discovering that the prince was much more open minded than he would have dared to hope for, but when it came to family and those he considered to be family, Arthur was almost naively confident of their loyalty.

Seeing Gaius's hesitation, Arthur pounced. "You know something, don't you? Tell me, Gaius."

"Sire… I honestly don't know anything that would help clear Merlin's name."

Arthur's mouth turned down and Gaius could see that the prince didn't believe him. Gaius didn't want to make anything worse; right now Arthur had a fierce determination that was more than likely built mostly on stubbornness to help Merlin. Gaius feared, however, that if Arthur was distracted from this goal by fingers pointed at someone he cared deeply about, he would take the time to second-guess his decision to help Merlin. Gaius hoped that Arthur wanted to save Merlin because it was the right thing to do, because Merlin was his friend, but he couldn't take the chance. Still…

"I wonder, though, sire, if the Lady Morgana might know anything? She and Merlin _are_ friends of a sort, after all. She might have seen something I missed."

Arthur nodded, expression distant as he considered talking to Morgana. "Yes, Gaius, I think I _will_ talk to her," the prince decided, before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

* * *

Arthur had been telling the truth when he had told Gaius that he didn't want to know the truth about Merlin just yet, but not just because he didn't want the extra stress to deal with. While that much was true, he just didn't know how he would react if he found out that Merlin _did_ have magic. He'd like to think that he'd give his servant a chance to explain, that he'd at least entertain the possibility that if Merlin had magic then all magic couldn't be bad, but he just didn't know. Uncertainty plagued his mind. What if he found out that Merlin had magic and decided that he was angry at the boy for lying to him? What if the angry, magic-hating side of his mind took control and he stopped trying to help Merlin? This way, if he just pretended that nothing had happened, that Merlin didn't have magic despite the accusation and definite possibility, he could focus on rescuing the idiot now and _then_ worry about the repercussions later. Arthur still wasn't positive why he was so determined to save Merlin, especially if he did have magic, but the thought of Merlin burning made him sick. Merlin just wasn't evil, magic or not, and Arthur just couldn't let him die.

Now, Arthur stood outside of Morgana's door, fist poised to knock. He didn't know why he was suddenly hesitant to talk to her; he had had more than his fair share of conversations with his father's ward in the past, although much less this past year after being returned home from captivity. He supposed that he could be nervous because this time he wasn't coming to her for advice or even a bit of sibling-like banter, but to question her about what had just happened in the throne room. He didn't necessarily think that she had anything to do with Merlin's arrest and death sentence but he _had_ seen the smirk and the dark look in her green eyes as she watched the servant being thrown to the floor at Uther's feet. And when the king's hand had made harsh contact with Merlin's face – something that had shocked – and _angered_ – the prince more than he cared to admit, Morgana had… smiled? No, that couldn't be right.

Then again, the look on Gaius's face before he had suggested that he speak to Morgana had been almost bitter, angry. Like his reasons for wanting the prince to question Morgana were not what he said – that she might have seen or heard something about the person behind this because they were friends. In actuality, although Arthur hadn't really realized it until now, looking back over the past few months, Merlin and Morgana hadn't interacted much at all. The only times he had seen them together, their exchanges were brief and seemed forced. Maybe Gaius had been implying something, something that he was afraid to voice aloud to the prince, unaware that Arthur's thoughts had been drifting, unbidden, in the very same direction since seeing that first smirk on her face when Merlin was dragged into the hall.

But…

This was Morgana, the woman who cared about everyone and every_thing_ in the whole blasted kingdom. The girl that was like a sister to him, that was not afraid to speak out against Uther and for those that she felt he oppressed – even those with _magic_, for crying out loud. Now that he really thought about it, most of the times Morgana had been in trouble was because she had rebuked something to do with the law about magic – the sentencing of that druid man, Alvin, or whatever his name had been; the execution of the druid boy (although Arthur had felt the killing of a mere _boy_ to be a bit extreme himself); when Guinevere had been accused of magic… If she was so passionate about helping those that she felt oppressed, _surely_ she wouldn't tell on Merlin if he did, by some cruel joke of life, have magic. And besides, Merlin was her _friend_. She wouldn't just betray him… would she?

He shook his head, angry at the doubts he was having about Morgana's loyalty to her friends. Of _course_ she wasn't happy about Merlin's situation; she was probably just putting on an act for the king so that he wouldn't punish her for voicing her opinion again. That didn't set right with the prince, either, though, because she had never seemed to care about the repercussions of telling her guardian off before. Sighing, Arthur shrugged off such thoughts, knowing that he wouldn't learn anything by standing outside of Morgana's door, arguing with himself all night. Meanwhile, Merlin was sure to be in the dungeons, under lock and key and strict watch. Arthur could only hope that he'd be left alone – he knew the guards could sometimes be a bit rough with sorcerers, especially if they were those that were loyal only to the king. Still, Merlin hadn't exactly been _proven_ guilty, so surely Merlin would be kept relatively comfortable, despite being locked in a cold cell beneath the castle awaiting execution.

No. Merlin was _not_ going to be killed tomorrow – Arthur had already decided that – but if he was going to find a way to (legally) get his servant out of this mess, he was going to have to find some answers. Because of Morgana's suspicious (although Arthur hated to call it that, really) behavior in the throne room, he was going to try and see if she knew anything first. Then he would go see Merlin, maybe get some answers. For now, though, he was going to talk to Morgana.

He took a deep breath and knocked.

* * *

Merlin was shoved into one of the deeper cells in the dungeons, further than he'd ever been before. His stomach twisted in a small knot as he glanced around the dark, dank room. This was obviously a place built specifically for holding people with magic. A set of chains hung from the back wall and as the guards "escorting" him forced him toward them, he realized with a wave of panic that these were not just any chains – they were made specifically for containing magic. He would have thought that with Uther's ban of everything magic, these, too, what with the runes of the Old Religion surrounding the cuffs, made to restrain magic, would have been destroyed. Then again, Uther would want to have a way of keeping control of those extremely powerful sorcerers, those that he considered a threat.

Merlin struggled as his wrists were clamped into the manacles, his back facing the empty room, his face turned to the wall. The guards strode forward, holding a larger manacle with a chain attached to it, and Merlin strained his neck away as they tried to clasp it around his throat. A blow to the back of the head stilled his struggles as he gasped, dazed, and the giant metal ring, also covered with runes, clicked shut around his throat. The short chain attached to the collar was pulled forward and hooked to a ring on the cell wall, effectively diminishing Merlin's head movement. His magic was shoved deeper inside of him, the collar repressing it.

He couldn't look around, only at the wall. He was terrified, not able to know who – if anyone – was behind him, or what they were going to do. Suddenly a hand touched his shoulder and he flinched, hating himself as he did so. He cursed himself for ever letting it come to this – but what was he supposed to have done? He hadn't known the guards were going to go _this _far, suffocating his magic and chaining him so securely in this bleak, dark, obscure prison cell that the warlock hadn't even known existed until now. Besides, he wasn't going to attack the king – as much as Merlin hated the man at the moment, he _was_ Arthur's father, and Merlin just couldn't do that to his friend.

He instinctively tried to use a burst of magic, just to see if it would work, but nothing happened. Fear trembled through him and he tried to calm down, on the verge of hyperventilating. He couldn't use his magic. _He couldn't use his magic._ Panic began to settle into his chest as he realized that he was, for once, truly helpless. He should have broken free from the guards when he had the chance, because there was _nothing _he could do for himself now.

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Merlin wanted to turn and see who it was, but he couldn't, his neck restrained to the wall as well. As it was, he settled for glaring furiously at the slimy stone wall inches from his nose, but the wall didn't seem to care. A voice, low and dangerous, hissed in his ear. "My informant has also told me that you are not working alone – she has discovered that you plot with the witch, Morgause."

Merlin answered the king, his voice steady despite his roaring fear coming to the surface. "Sire, I haven't—"

He yelped as a whip cracked against his back. It hadn't been Uther who had hit him; the hand was still on his shoulder, the king's breath tickling his ear. Even through the material of his shirt, Merlin felt the sting of the blow. Uther spoke once more. "I want to know _everything_ about what she is doing, what you two are planning, and how to stop her."

Merlin was filled with desperation as he realized just how far Morgana – because who else could have done this, honestly? – had gone. Wasn't it enough that she had caused him to be arrested and sentenced to death? She was going to make Uther torture him for information about Morgause, all for her petty revenge? "I can't," Merlin said calmly, his heart racing. "I don't know; I'd never ally myself with that witch."

_CRACK!_

Merlin didn't cry out this time, only shut his eyes and jerked slightly. Uther's voice was harsh. "You leave me no choice, sorcerer. It does not give me pleasure to see you suffer before your execution, but suffer you shall if you do not tell me what you know."

"I don't— aaarrrhh!"

Something warm began to trickle down Merlin's back as the whip broke through the thin fabric of his shirt and sliced at the bare flesh beneath.

"The captain of the guards will keep you company while I see to other matters," the king said, voice laced with hatred for the wizard before him. "Just let him know when you're ready to confess. Maybe we'll even be merciful and bring your execution forward to stop your agony if you cooperate." Merlin's heart was pounding faster by the second, pure and raw fear running through his veins. Why hadn't he stopped this? He tugged at the chains. He didn't want this, he didn't want this, this _couldn't_ be happening, he had magic, he could just break free…

Nothing happened. He hadn't even realized that Uther had left, leaving his captain to do the dirty work, until the whip lashed his back again. He gritted his teeth, forcing the tears of pain back. He was helpless and he _hated_ it. Why hadn't he escaped when he had had the chance? Now it was too late… too late…

And on top of his physical agony, Merlin couldn't help but let his thoughts drift to his "destiny". What was Arthur doing? Did he believe Uther? Did he know that the king was having Merlin tortured for information? Was he doing anything to stop it?

And then all thoughts of the prince were driven from his mind as the whip found his left shoulder, digging in and splattering flecks of blood on the wall as it did so.

He hoped Arthur was coming for him, but he had no reason to believe he was. After all, he'd been convicted of – _CRACK!_ – magic. Arthur had been raised to abhor those who used it; why should Merlin be any different? Still, he couldn't help but cling to the small hope that maybe Arthur _would_ try to save him (if he even knew what was going on, that is), because he knew that it was the only thing that would be able to keep him going throughout the long and painful night ahead.

* * *

**A/N: Yep, leaving you guys hanging about the Morgana/Arthur conversation and Merlin's questioning. So sorry. :) I'll try not to leave y'all hanging for as long as I did last time, 'kay? xD**

**NEXT TIME – _veritas_ – Arthur finds out more than he's bargained for and Uther can't seem to get Merlin to confess. (PART THREE)**

**Please review! :) I'll update as soon as I can. XD**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	24. Veritas

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Sorry, once again, for the wait. And I know, I'm a broken record… but what can I say? I've been busy, even with school being out… summer job and all, y'know? Here's part three… and for the first time, I'm using a word that's _not_ English! Enjoy and please review! XD**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: _Veritas_ (Part Three)**

Veritas_, **n.  
**(verr-EAT-us)  
Latin; "truth"_

"Arthur." Morgana's voice was surprised but calm. Arthur kept his eyes trained on her face, looking for any sign of guilt. There was none. Maybe, then, she had nothing to do with this mess. Maybe she had been smiling at something else, not Merlin's predicament. Maybe… maybe, maybe, maybe. Arthur was sick of all the "what ifs" and "maybes" that were running rampant through his head, determined, he believed, to drive him crazy. He didn't want to be here, questioning the girl who was like a sister to him about whether or not she had turned in his servant for magic. No, he wanted to be on his way to rescue said servant from the dungeon, or to be talking his father out of this execution, or, better yet, waking up and finding out that this was all just one big dream. Arthur just wanted to be _doing_ something.

He forced himself to give Morgana a grim smile and asked, "Can I come in?"

Morgana hesitated and for a moment Arthur thought she was going to say no. Then she smiled – and this smile was most _definitely _forced – and nodded. "Of course," she said. "Come in."

He nodded, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. He didn't look at Morgana but felt her questioning eyes on him. Was he _really_ doing this? Questioning Morgana about what had happened? Surely he was mistaken, she wouldn't…

Then he remembered Merlin, tied up and being dragged away by the guards and he strengthened his resolve.

"I suppose you're here about Merlin," Morgana prompted, the look in her eyes unreadable as Arthur's snapped onto them, surprised.

"I, er… yes," Arthur answered, a bit awkwardly. He hadn't expected Morgana to be so to-the-point about all of this. Then again, she never had been one for mincing words.

"Well, don't bother," Morgana said in a clipped tone. "I don't know anything."

"Morgana, I'm not—"

"He's going to die, Arthur," Morgana said and something in her voice sent chills up and down Arthur's spine. Her voice was dark, her eyes hard. And then she was back to normal, so suddenly that Arthur found himself wondering if she had even spoken that way or not.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Arthur growled, determined.

"Why?" Morgana was genuinely surprised. "Arthur, you heard Uther. Merlin _practiced magic_, tried to _kill_ you with it. Surely you want to see him dead, too?"

"Of course not," Arthur spat. "And he _didn't_ use magic to try and kill me; that's just—hang on. _Too?_ Who else wants to see Merlin dead, Morgana? Who were you talking about?"

"Your father, of course," Morgana said hastily. "As he wants to see _all_ who practice magic destroyed." A trace of bitterness lingered in her words. Arthur felt something, a niggling of doubt, perhaps, stir in the back of his mind. Something wasn't right here…

Eyes narrowing slightly, Arthur regarded the woman that he had known for years, guilt welling up inside of him at the suspicions creeping into his mind. "Morgana," he said in a deceivingly calm tone, "what aren't you telling me?"

And just like that, the dam burst open and the truth – coupled with wild, uncontainable emotions – streamed from Morgana. All Arthur could do was stand in shock and listen to Morgana bare her soul.

* * *

_CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!_

The whip sliced across his bare flesh – his shirt had been torn to shreds not long after the questioning had begun – three times, each one sending a wave of agony through Merlin's body. He didn't know how long he'd been down here, chained to the wall by his wrists and neck, being subjected to these monotonous questions and subsequent torment.

_"What are you and Morgause planning?"_

_"Nothing."_

_CRACK!_

_"Where is the witch hiding out?"_

_"I don't know."_

_CRACK!_

_"Tell us how to stop her!"_

_"I can't – I wish I could, I swear, I want her to be stopped as much as you, I – ARGH!"_

_CRACK!_

And so it had went for minutes, hours, days… no, not days. Because Uther was going to execute him at noon the next day. As the whip cracked across his skin yet again, Merlin let a sob escape his lips. He didn't know, he really didn't know… but they didn't believe him. He dreaded hearing the captain of the guard's words, feared being asked a question, because he knew what it would mean for him if he didn't answer the way his interrogator wanted him to respond.

With each labored breath, each drop of blood, a little more of Merlin's hope died. He had thought that maybe – _maybe_ – Arthur would come for him, maybe he wouldn't believe Morgana's lies – well, half lies, really; while he _was_ a sorcerer, he would _never _use his powers to harm Arthur. He'd put far too much energy into protecting the prat to do that. Even so, Merlin wondered what point there would be if Arthur didn't care enough to try and save him from this torment.

_CRACK!_

The whip made contact yet again, and Merlin cried out, no longer able to contain it. He hadn't even heard the question. Instantly, he babbled, "I d-don't kn-know… I… I…"

And then – mercifully – he lost consciousness and the last thought, the last prayer in his coherent mind was, _Arthur… Please don't leave me here… _

Then he was gone and for the time being, the pain was put on hold.

* * *

"Yes, I was the one who told Uther that Merlin has magic," Morgana said, her voice thick with emotion. "When I found out, I _had_ to tell him, didn't I?" Arthur opened his mouth to answer but Morgana plowed over him, her voice angry. "And so what if he dies? Why should I care? He obviously didn't when he _poisoned _me!"

Arthur gaped. Merlin… poisoning someone? It… it didn't make sense. How could _Mer_lin, stupid, idiotic, peaceful, harmless _Merlin_ try and kill someone, especially one of his friends. "What are you talking about, Morgana?" Arthur asked, his voice hoarse."

"You should ask him yourself," Morgana spat, making no effort to disguise the hate in her voice. Arthur felt a bit ill at the sound of the sweet girl he had grown up with speaking with such malice, "although he might be hard pressed to answer."

Suddenly, Arthur's mouth went dry with fear even as a small part of his mind tried to tell him that he should _not_ be worrying about someone, especially a magical servant, who had tried to kill Morgana. But somehow, Arthur couldn't hate Merlin. At least, not yet. He needed to know more, not just Morgana's side of the story. But the way Morgana's eyes had gleamed when she'd said that Merlin probably wouldn't be able to answer struck a chord of fear in his chest.

"What are you talking about?"

"Didn't you know?" Morgana asked in a sickeningly sweet, oh-so-false tone that frightened Arthur more than he'd care to admit. He couldn't believe how much she _despised_ Merlin and even more surprising was that she had managed to hide her loathing for so long. "Your father is under the impression that he is working with the witch, Morgause." Arthur felt the blood drain from his face.

"What?"

"Uther is having your servant 'questioned' by the captain of the guards as we speak." Arthur's heart thudded uncomfortably fast and loud. The captain was known to be _brutal_, able to extract answers from almost anyone.

Without another word, ignoring the part of him that said Merlin was a traitor and a murderer, Arthur spun on his heel and dashed for the dungeon. He _had_ to stop this. He didn't know if what Morgana said was or was not true, but he couldn't just stand by and let his father torture Merlin, especially for something that he _knew_ couldn't be true. Merlin wasn't evil, he wouldn't work with Morgause. _But he poisoned Morgana…_ No, he didn't know that. _But what if he did…?_ Then… then he had had a good reason… _What 'good' reason could there possibly be for killing a friend?_

"Shut up," Arthur muttered to the little voice of doubt that continued to nag at him. "Not Merlin…"

He simply had to glare at the guards and they all but leapt out of his way as he strode purposefully for the dungeon. He bypassed all the initial cells, knowing that Merlin wouldn't be there if he was being interrogated. Stomach doing flip-flops, Arthur pelted around a corner and skidded to a stop in front of the cell that most of the prisoners' screams emanated from. He gaped, eyes wide, stomach churning, and couldn't believe the scene laid out before him.

"Merlin?" he said, almost tentatively.

Merlin didn't answer.

* * *

**A/N: So… Arthur knows, sort of, but he's figured out that there's another side to Morgana, so she might not be all that he thinks. As for Merlin, what's going on with him? What has Arthur seen? Why isn't Merlin answering? Well, I'm going to make you wait for part 4, aren't I? :P **

**NEXT TIME – vengeance – Morgana's revenge on Merlin reaches its crescendo and Arthur is faced with a terrible choice. **

**Please review and I _will_ update as soon as I can, 'kay? :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	25. Vengeance

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys! I guess you're kind of used to it by now, but still. I apologize. Even on summer break, I seem to be busy, especially since I've gotten a job. But all that aside, here's the next part of this mini-story, there should be one more part after this and we'll be back to one-shots, I suppose! :) Thanks for all the reviews and please continue to do so! ;)**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Vengeance **

_vengeance, **n.  
**(vinn-JINCE)  
The return of an injury for an injury, in punishment or retribution,; an avenging; revenge_

Arthur couldn't believe his eyes. His stomach curled and his head spun as he took in the scene before him. There was only one way he could think to describe the terrible vision – _red._ There was blood everywhere, or so it seemed – on Merlin's exposed back, his shirt ripped to shreds by the bloody, leather whip that was leaning casually against the wall beside Merlin's chained form. The sickening crimson, essentially Merlin's _life_, was splattered on the floor, flecks of it were on the wall. Merlin's back was literally a mess of welts and cuts – there was no telling how many times he had been struck with the whip. The captain of the guard was not in the cell, nor was Arthur's father. For the moment, they were alone.

"Merlin?" the prince tried again, not able to see the boy's face because he was chained to the wall with his front facing away from the door. He was slumped over, leaning against the wall as best he could, shackles around both his wrists and his neck, keeping him to the wall, and _if_ he had magic, the chains would be confining _that_ as well. Doubts, fears, and wild emotions flew around haphazardly in the prince's mind but at the moment he didn't try to sort through them. Instead, he focused his attention on his manservant, bloodied and beaten. "Merlin…" he said softly, anger growing like a wildfire in his chest. How could his father have done this? No, Uther hadn't whipped Merlin himself, but he had ordered the captain to do his dirty work. So while the king's hands were literally free of Merlin's blood, he still had the boy's blood on his hands.

Rushing forward, Arthur reached his servant and tried to find a clear place to put his hand, finding no unmarked skin on the man's back. Wincing, Arthur gently touched Merlin's shoulder and his servant gritted his teeth, apparently just coming to consciousness, and looked with pain and fever glazed eyes at his master.

"Arthur?" His voice was husky, terrified, agonized.

"Merlin," said Arthur, disgusted at what his father's order had done to him, "I'm so sorry."

Merlin coughed weakly, cried out weakly as the motion rocked his weakened body, and muttered, "Me too. I… lied."

Arthur's eyes widened. Merlin was admitting that he had lied? About what? His magic? But that would mean that he _did_ have magic! Arthur shook his head. This wasn't the time. "It's fine," he lied, not even sure what he was talking about. All he knew was that he _had_ to get Merlin out of here, to Gaius, unchained from the wall. Merlin shouldn't be here, he didn't belong in a hellhole like this. Whether or not the idiot had magic, he _didn't_ deserve this. "Merlin, are you…" He stopped himself. It was obvious that Merlin was _far_ from okay and if Arthur asked him it would be obvious that Arthur was at a loss, no idea what to do. He didn't want Merlin to realize how shaken up he was by all of this.

A choked noise burst from Merlin's lips. "Merlin?"

"I-it hurts."

Arthur felt his resolve to question Merlin himself – although through immensely less violent means – drain away at the pain in his servant's voice. Tears stung the back of his eyes as he watched the blood trickle in slow rivulets down his back from the cuts marring almost every inch of visible skin. Merlin gasped for air, trying to get a handle on the pain and Arthur closed his eyes, trying to get a handle on his emotions. "I know," he said softly, rubbing Merlin's shoulder comfortingly. He decided that he wasn't going to press Merlin for information while he was in this state. Whatever Morgana believed he had done, _surely_ Merlin hadn't poisoned her. He would find out the truth later; sort all of this out between Merlin and Morgana _after_ Merlin had been freed and was on his way to be healed. "I'm not going to let them hurt you anymore, Merlin," he said soothingly. Merlin didn't answer, slumping down into his chains. He had passed out again.

* * *

Arthur strode purposefully toward Morgana's chambers once more, livid. He had found Sir Leon and had told him and another knight, Sir Evan, that they were to guard the door to the dungeons and allow _no one_ to enter. He knew that if the king ordered them to move, they'd have to, but the knights had more jurisdiction than the guards. Hopefully that held over the captain of the guards as well. He just needed to buy Merlin some time until he could talk some sense into Morgana and Uther. They _couldn't_ go through with this. They just _couldn't._

He knocked urgently on Morgana's door and she opened it, eyeing him in barely masked amusement. "So," she said with a half-smile that showed Arthur a whole other side to the girl he thought he knew. "What did Merlin tell you?"

Through gritted teeth, Arthur said, "I didn't ask him anything – Morgana, you wouldn't believe how brutal my father and the captain of the guards is being to him! They have literally stripped his back of nearly all its flesh." Morgana didn't look fazed at all, which only served to increase Arthur's anger. "Morgana – how could you have done this? You've betrayed Merlin!"

"No," she said coldly. "He betrayed _me_ when he poisoned me."

Arthur regarded her coolly, no longer convinced by her façade. She was playing a dangerous game, that was for sure, but the prince was more convinced than ever that Morgana was hiding something big. He had seen the sadistic gleam in her eye at the news of Merlin's suffering. He had watched her smile as Merlin was dragged away. She was _enjoying_ this – and the Morgana that he had known would have _never_ acted this way. Even if Merlin had poisoned her… which he hadn't. Right?

"Morgana, you have to forget about the poison for a second! I don't know what happened, if it happened, or what! But what I do know is that Merlin has spent the last three hours being tortured and whipped almost non-stop and that he is going to _die_ tomorrow – because of _you_. Even if he did poison you, do you really think that revenge is going to get you what you want? It's not justice, Morgana, it's _murder._"

"Hm, funny, you didn't seem to care about that when you were going to kill your father for your mother's death," his father's ward said flippantly, like she was talking about the weather or what she was going to wear to a banquet. Arthur snarled – he didn't know how long Morgana had kept up this act but it seemed that she was losing grip on it faster than she could keep her cool. It was like a monster had been unleashed inside of her and was roaring to get out – and succeeding even though it was obvious that she was trying to control it. She was angrier than Arthur had ever seen her (and bloody _hell_, had he seen her angry!), but this wasn't a just anger, trying to help someone in need – this was an uncontrollable rage brought about by betrayal, hurt, and loss. She was right about one thing, though – Arthur understood that fury that she was talking about; he had been consumed by it when he thought that Uther had been responsible for his mother's death.

But… no one but Arthur, his father, and Merlin _really_ knew what had occurred. Then how…?

Morgana either realized her mistake or decided that she sounded too callous and smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was rude."

"Morgana…how did you know? About what happened between my father and I?"

"I…"

"Morgana, what aren't you telling me?"

Morgana gave up her pretense, eyes brimming with tears as her face turned into a mask of pure hatred. "You have no idea," she snapped. "But I'm _not_ going to help Merlin. He deserves every bit of pain he gets. And you're a fool if you are going to stand beside him and not me, who you have known all your life like a sister."

Arthur shook his head, mind reeling. "No," he said softly. "I don't think I _do_ know you anymore, Morgana."

Morgana smirked. "Fine, Arthur. But Merlin is going to die. He will pay for poisoning me. And _you_ will have to decide who you are going to stand with – me… or the man who tried to murder me. Your choice."

She slammed the door in his face. Arthur cursed, not able to comprehend all that had just happened. Morgana had had some kind of mental breakdown, it seemed – perhaps the stress and anger about what she thought had happened had caused her to snap. Whatever the reason for her outburst, Arthur felt like a part of him had been ripped out. Although they had always bickered, he and Morgana had always been close. To have that bond destroyed now, because of Morgana's insatiable thirst for revenge, hurt. And he still didn't know the whole story about Merlin. If he _had_ poisoned Morgana? If he _did_ have magic? If _he_ was the one Arthur had been misjudging all this time?

Arthur shook his head and turned away, deciding that he needed to get back to Merlin _now_ and hear his side of the story, no matter how hard it would be with Merlin's condition. He was being pulled in two opposite different directions and it was going to drive him crazy, if it hadn't already. He had just turned to head toward the dungeon when he saw the last two people he wanted to see at this moment in time walking hurriedly toward him.

"Leon. Evan. What are you doing here? Why aren't you with Merlin?"

"The king," said Leon, "ordered us aside. He's decided that he can't get Merlin to talk. So he has…" The knight hesitated.

"He has what?" Arthur snapped, trying to keep his head from spinning so crazily that he got sick. He felt like he was losing the battle.

"He decided to move up Merlin's execution," Evan finished for the grave Leon.

Arthur's mouth went dry and he could practically feel the blood draining from his face. "What? When?"

Leon winced. "Right now."

* * *

**A/N: Dun dun DUUUN! You guys hate me now, don't you? As many of you have pointed out, I _do_ love my cliffhangers! And, you know, I don't even plan for them! Seriously! They just happen! Also, I'm hoping Morgana wasn't too OOC. I noticed, throughout the progression of series 3, that it became harder and harder for her to keep up her pretense. And for her to learn that Merlin had magic and didn't help her (you'll find out more about the reveal next chapter), I think it would really crack at her resolve. She's so bent on revenge and so hurt that she has had a kind of mental breakdown. She didn't mean to tell Arthur anything or to act all she-witchy to him, but she just… cracked. Even an evil lying she-witch of doom can't deal with so much deception, grief, "betrayal," and such forever. I think that there's a fine line between sanity and insanity, and sometimes… people just… snap. **

**NEXT TIME – veciferous – The climactic finale of this miniseries – Arthur must make his decision and either one will have great consequences. Finally, all is revealed.**

**Please review! :) I'll try to have the next part out ASAP! xD**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	26. Veciferous

**A/N: _Please_ don't kill me. Please. I know it's been AGES since I've updated this and I'm sure some of you, if not all of you, are ready to give up on me. But I implore you – please don't. I've just been so busy this summer, and, well, I've barely had time to update my other fics and sadly, this one was left behind for over a month. But I'm back now, and I'll try to update _Sesquipedalian_ at _least_ every other Saturday, if not every one. Please review this last part of the mini-series, and enjoy!**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian **

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Veciferous **

_vociferous, **adj.  
**(voh-SIF-er-UHS)  
Characterized by vehemence, clamor, or noisiness_

"What?" Arthur shouted, making both knights wince. Fear raced through him. How could this have happened? How had it ever come to this – Merlin beaten at the order of Arthur's own father, about to be executed; Morgana the one responsible and _happy_ about it… and the possibility of Merlin with _magic_? Nothing made sense anymore. The people Arthur thought he knew were showing their true colors and it scared him – truly, it did. And now his closest friend, accused of sorcery by a woman he thought he could trust with his life, about to be executed… No. That was _not_ an option. "Where?"

"The courtyard, sire," Leon informed him with a dip of his head. "Since it's late, no one will be about and it will be done quietly. I don't think he wants to get the word out about Merlin's death because everyone knows how loyal he is to you, Arthur, and a lot of people like him."

"No," Arthur disagreed with the knight's theory, fire in his eyes. "He's just being a coward. He doesn't want to have to face me after what he's done. Thank you for telling me," the prince went on gravely. He dipped his head at Sirs Leon and Evan before running as fast as he could toward the courtyard, praying wildly that he wouldn't be too late to save Merlin.

Morgana had told him that he'd have to make a decision – Merlin or her – and Arthur was a bit surprised at how easy that choice had been. Morgana had made a mistake in trying to get Merlin tortured and killed for revenge. Poison or no poison, magic or no magic, Arthur simply _refused_ to believe that his best friend was an evil sorcerer. And he was _not_ going to let his father kill his servant and friend when he could do something to stop it.

He was done flitting between what others said and wanted – this time, Arthur Pendragon was going to do what was right, _damn_ the consequences.

* * *

Merlin was in a haze of pain, not sure if anything that he _thought_ was happening _was_ actually real. Maybe everything he thought he saw was a hallucination, spawning from the whip and the agony it had wrought on his body. Even though his torturer had stopped whipping him a while ago, every time he took a breath he could feel the whip hitting him all over again.

At one point, he thought he saw Arthur, maybe even said his name, but that couldn't have happened. After all, Arthur had been there when Merlin was arrested for sorcery. Why would Arthur come to see him? Through his pain, he wondered if maybe Arthur didn't believe the accusations, or didn't care. Merlin thought that Arthur wasn't quite ready to know yet, but what if he was? Maybe Arthur _had_ come to see him. Merlin just didn't know.

One thing he _did_ know was if he wasn't hallucinating right now, he was in _big_ trouble. Uther, along with several guards, had stormed into his cell a little while ago. Uther had grabbed his hair, pulling his head back as far as the shackle around Merlin's neck would allow, and said something about dealing with the problem immediately, since he wasn't going to talk. Merlin tried to tell the king, once more, that he wasn't an evil sorcerer, but all that came out was a whimper and a few disjointed syllables. Then he was unchained from the wall and dragged out of the room.

He was pretty sure that this _was_ happening, that it wasn't just one big hallucination, because the guards' hands on his upper arms and wrists felt pretty darn real and the pain shooting across his bloody back with every forced step was too intense to be a dream. Other than what he was feeling directly, the sights and sounds as he was marched out of the dungeons, through some empty corridors, and toward the courtyard were surreal. He felt almost disjointed from reality.

When they reached the courtyard, Merlin realized what 'reality' was. The yard was empty, only Merlin, Uther, and some guards – _and_ the platform and noose that had apparently been constructed earlier in the day just for him. Fear gripped him. Uther was going to kill him now? But… but…

His mind whirred as he simply tried to breathe through his panic. His magic was no longer restrained. He was out in the open; he could do magic again! He could escape, and run –

Despair filled him again. No, he couldn't run. Sure, his magic might allow him to break free of the guards for a little while, but he was severely injured, his back a mess of welts and cuts and bloody stripes from the whip. He was weakened, feverish, and in more pain than he'd ever experienced in his young life. If he thought he would be able to escape from Camelot alive, he was a fool.

Merlin was in a daze of pain and terror as he was all but carried onto the platform, made to stand on it, and then held upright by the guards since he could barely stand on his own. A third guard came forward and slipped the noose around his neck, tightening it just enough – there was a little slack, but not much. He would die quickly, but not instantly. He would suffer first. He found he wasn't very afraid at the idea of suffering. The emotional pain, knowing he was about to die and would never see Arthur again, or Gaius, or Gwen, was almost as overwhelming as the physical torment. His throat tightened and he began to panic in earnest, even though the executioner hadn't pulled the lever yet.

_No, please, I don't, I don't want to die…_ he thought. _Arthur,_ his mind pleaded desperately as he heard the king begin to tell Merlin what a wicked person he was and why he was being hung for sorcery – as if Merlin hadn't heard this speech a hundred times, before every execution of one of his kind he was forced to watch. For Camelot's sake, for Arthur's…

And then, Uther fell quiet and the moonlit darkness of the courtyard was blacked out completely as a rough sack went over his head. Merlin's heart was pumping furiously, fear overwhelming him. _This was it, but this couldn't be it. Merlin had so much more to do, his and Arthur's destiny had not been fulfilled… He _couldn't_ die here and now, alone save for Uther and some guards, hung in an empty courtyard in the dark of night… Arthur… Please…_

The rough fabric of the sack was suffocating him, the air in the bag becoming too hot and thick to breathe. He realized that it wasn't actually the cloth over his face that was restricting his breathing, or the slackened noose around his neck – it was his own fear and desperation. He had to break free. He couldn't, he couldn't do this, not now… Terror rushed through his weakened body and he almost toppled over held up only by the executioner.

Uther was still talking but his speech was coming to a close. "…and for your crimes, sorcerer, and your unwillingness to cooperate with your king, you will be hung by the neck until dead."

Merlin's breath came in strangled gasps. This was the end. His magic rose, ready to lash out and protect him…

"STOP!"

The voice was like that of an angel's, and if Merlin hadn't known Arthur for nearly three years now, he might have thought the speaker was one, too. At the moment, though, Merlin had _never_ been so happy to hear his master's voice. If he had been completely coherent, or even semi-coherent through the pain and blood-curdling fear, he might have noticed the higher pitch of the other man's voice and the way his voice shook.

He could hear yelling, maybe even cursing, from both father and son, from where he stood – or rather leaned heavily on the guards – but couldn't make out much of what was being said. His mind was fuzzy, his vision fluctuating between blurriness and nothing at all. Not that there was much to see, anyway, with the sack over his head. He thought distractedly that he would rather see the back of his eyelids than the coarse fabric of the execution hood.

Arthur shouted something and Uther responded with such anger that Merlin was chilled to the bone with fear. And then – "Do it."

Merlin knew what he was talking about in an instant and his breath hitched. _No no no no no…_

"NO!"

Arthur's horrified scream echoed through the courtyard, through the castle, and rushed around Merlin's head, stunning the boy with its sincerity.

Arthur was begging now, his tone, although the words didn't make sense to Merlin's ears, pleading desperate.

A soft, "Please, Father," and suddenly the ground disappeared from under Merlin's feet and the rope dug into Merlin's neck as he fell. He choked, coughing, breathless, trying to move, to pull himself up, but his limbs were useless. His throat burned from the rope, his lungs gasping for air that simply wasn't there. Spots danced eerily in front of the warlock's eyes, decorating the interior of the bag with splotches of white and crimson that Merlin thought disjointedly were quite pretty.

His whole body hurt, his neck and his chest and his back, and he knew this was it, he was dying and nothing anyone did could stop it…

His eyes fluttered closed, the dots still prancing, and his struggles began to wane. Darkness consumed him, and there was silence.

* * *

When he woke up, he was confused.

First of all, he didn't understand _how_ he was waking up because he was pretty sure he had just been hung.

Secondly, _how_ was he in Gaius's chambers, lying on his stomach, his wounds wrapped and the pain slightly dimmed?

Finally, _what the hell_ was Arthur doing slumped in Gaius's favorite chair, head lolling to one side, mouth slightly ajar, strange rumbling noises not unlike the feral snarl of a wild boar emanating from him? And Arthur said he didn't snore…

Merlin turned the strange thought away and shifted slightly, his battered back screaming in pain. He tried to move his head but quickly realized that his neck was a bruised, raw mess and that changing its position was just about as painful as his back. His voice was hoarse and his throat dry as he croaked as loudly as he could, which wasn't very loud at all, "Arthur."

Despite the softness of his tone, Arthur woke immediately, his blue eyes snapping open and locking onto his servant. Instantly the prince's face split into a relieved smile and he looked so relaxed now that if it hadn't been for the welts on his back and bruises on his neck, he would have sworn the past day had been a terrible dream. Merlin was beyond confused, his mind simply trying to wrap itself around what had happened and failing miserably. So, he did the next best thing – he asked.

"Wha… Wha' happened?"

Arthur's smile faltered slightly and his eyebrows gave a little frown as they drew together above the bridge of his nose. "What do you remember?"

Merlin hated it when people answered a question with another question – this kind of philosophical response was like a riddle, and the Great Dragon had completely exhausted Merlin's tolerance of riddles. Still, he strained his memory, his head pounding, and tried to differentiate between reality and pain-induced fantasy. He wasn't sure he could. "I…" he said, then broke off coughing. Arthur jumped up like he'd been slapped, grabbed a cup of something – water, Merlin found out as it was pressed to his lips by an oddly helpful prince – and allowed his servant to drink a few sips. "Thanks," Merlin rasped, his throat a bit less painful when he spoke. He supposed hanging from a noose would do that to a person.

Arthur shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Well?" he prompted.

"I… the k-king…" Merlin shuddered and the shivers jerked the lacerations on his back painfully. He gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath through them, waiting out the worst of the twinge until he could speak again. "H-he ordered… whip… execution…" His panic made his voice hitch and he began to hyperventilate. He'd lived his worst nightmare, being executed for his magic, but somehow he'd managed to survive it and was here talking to Arthur about it. The guilt on the prince's face was tangible.

"You don't have to answer," the prince said quickly, averting his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Merlin said softly, trying not to think about his ordeal. "But I don't understand. How am I… still alive?"

Arthur flushed. "I didn't know what was going on, I _still_ don't know much of anything."

"Nothing's changed there, then," Merlin quipped weakly, and Arthur couldn't help but smile. Leave it to Merlin to put a bit of humor into the most desperate of situations.

"Shut up," Arthur said automatically, a wan grin coming and going, before he went on. He told Merlin everything that had happened since the servant had been dragged from the throne room – the confrontations with Morgana, the accusations, the uncertainty. When he got to the part where Merlin was being executed, his voice was low and dark. "I got there right as father was about to hang – to do it," he amended, not looking in Merlin's eyes. "I tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He pulled the lever and you—" He broke off, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of his voice. He cleared his throat.

"I stopped trying to reason with him. I yelled, cursed, screamed at my father, ordered him to stop the madness, told him that it was all a mistake and that if he didn't let you down, I'd never forgive him… ever." He looked royally embarrassed at this point and refused to meet his servant's eyes. "Then you stopped struggling and I knew you didn't have much longer, so I did the only thing I could… I threw my dagger and it sliced through the rope and you fell to the ground. Father was… he was _furious_. He was going to run you through, and at this point I didn't even know if you were even still alive." His voice shook.

He chuckled softly. "I must have woken up the whole castle with my protests," he said, "and to my surprise, a crowd began to gather, surrounding the gallows. It was full of people, your friends, those who abhorred the way you'd been treated by my father. Guinevere, Gaius, many of the knights, and bunch of villagers and servants I don't know." He shook his head.

"When my father saw how much of a stir your death would cause, and how even some knights of Camelot and the court physician were standing up for you, he relented. Even I'm surprised at the mass of people that wanted to stand up for you – seems you've made quite an impression on the citizens of Camelot, Merlin." His words were teasing but his tone was proud. He decided to talk to Morgana again, one more time, just to be safe – he didn't want some sort of uprising on your account, I guess – and for some reason, she changed her story. Said she didn't see right, that she was confused. A headache made her see things or something. I dunno if she changed or had another motive or…"

"No," Merlin said, shaking his head, wincing, and remembering that he shouldn't do that. "She knows you know how much she hates me and that you suspect her. She said too much, revealed too much. She's playing it safe, trying to give you some time to forget her outburst, trying to mellow everything out again." He paused. "She's just covering her tracks."

Arthur sighed. "I don't know all that's going on, but I do see that not all is as I thought. I'm not sure who I can trust anymore."

Merlin looked at his master seriously, two sets of blue eyes locked on one another. "You can trust me," he said. "I swear."

And Arthur knew it was true. Magic or no magic, whatever the story, whatever was going on, he _knew_ without a doubt that it was true. He'd find out more later, when Merlin felt more like talking, but for now Arthur contented himself with the knowledge that no matter the twists of fate ahead that there was at least _one_ person he could always count on. And he swore to himself and to his servant that the opposite would always be true – no matter what, Merlin would be able to count on Arthur.

* * *

**A/N: There I finished it! :D Haha, that was fun! Now…**

**NEXT – defenestrate – In which someone gets thrown out of a window.**

**Please review, I'll have the next story when I can! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	27. Defenestrate

**A/N: So… it's been a while, eh? But at least I didn't leave you on a cliffie last time, right? Right? LOL, this one is _much_ less serious than the last few ones, and is definitely crack-ish. I quite enjoyed writing this one. :) A few things to say really quickly: It takes place after series 3, because Gwaine's in Camelot, it's silly. Anyway, here's the next story… enjoy… and PLEASE REVIEW! :)**

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**Sesquipedalian **

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Defenestrate **

_defenestrate, **v.**  
(dee-FIN-i-STRATE)  
To throw out of a window_

It was probably a good stroke of luck for the king of Camelot that Uther found out about Merlin's magical abilities on the first floor of the castle.

Arthur had already known about Merlin's magic for three months when Uther finally discovered his son's servant's secret. Arthur had taken it rather well, actually, but as for his father – not so much. The royal court was gathered in the Great Hall for a meeting. The knights, including Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival, were standing off to the side, while the members of the council sat around the table, with Uther and Arthur at the head. King Uther hadn't been the same since Morgana's betrayal, but he had managed to reclaim his throne and was doing relatively well, despite how much his paranoia about magic had grown since his daughter's attempt to take over.

The meeting had been going as these meetings usually went, with the knights and Merlin just managing not to die of boredom, Arthur engaging his father in polite conversation and advice when the time called for it, and Gaius giving Uther suggestions which were instantaneously shot down as soon as they left his mouth. It was hotter than usual that day; Merlin had been told by Arthur to open all the windows in the hall so that some fresh, cooler air could circulate through the room. They were discussing taxes when the Great Hall's door was flung open and a cloaked, pudgy, middle-aged man scrambled into the room, his eyes burning gold.

"Uther Pendragon," the obvious sorcerer roared in a voice an octave higher than one might expect, "your days are over! You've oppressed my kind for too long! An absolute law with no chance of appeal? That's despotism! And the only thing we magicians hate _more_ than despotism is _you_!"

Despite his slightly amusing voice and appearance, this sorcerer was apparently pretty powerful. With a flash of golden eyes, he sent a magical dagger soaring Uther's way. Uther went to jump out of the way, but the dagger instantly changed its course so that it was on a collision course with the king's broken heart (remember, he was still sad about Morgana trying to kill him and destroy his kingdom, after all). His eyes went wide with fear, Arthur yelled, "Father!" and looked and Merlin imploringly, and Merlin knew he had to act, even though he knew what the consequences would be.

He jumped in front of the dagger, held out his hand, and with a surge of gold in his eyes, stopped the knife before it could impale the king behind him. "Really?" he said condescendingly, looking at the intruder with raised eyebrows. "A flying _dagger?_ Hasn't that already been done before? If you're going to get revenge, at least _try_ to be a little original; I'm getting bored here." He reached out and grasped the handle of the dagger, squeezing the hilt and making it disappear into thin air. He turned to Uther, who was staring at him with a mixture of shock and hatred. "He's all yours, sire," Merlin said respectfully, bowing his head.

* * *

After the potential assassin had been taken from the hall to the dungeons, Merlin stood before the king, Arthur at his side, the knights standing around them, and waited to hear Uther's judgment. "You're a sorcerer!" Uther exclaimed. Merlin and Arthur exchanged weary looks. This was going just about as well as they could have hoped – meaning it wasn't really going well at all. Still, Arthur apparently thought it was worth a shot to fight for his servant.

"Father, he _saved your life_. If he's evil, why would he do that?"

Uther snarled, "To gain my trust! And then, when the time is ripe, he'll kill me himself! Don't you see? It's a trick, Arthur!"

Arthur argued back, and Uther gave an angry retort, and Merlin looked around the room, trying to gauge the looks on the onlookers' faces. Gaius and Lancelot looked petrified (no surprise there), Leon, Percival, and Elyan had a look on their face that implied all the puzzle pieces were finally coming together, and Gwaine looked panicked. Merlin hoped the fluffy-haired knight wouldn't do anything stupid.

A vain hope, really.

Uther and Arthur were yelling now. Uther had risen from his throne and was advancing toward his son and the servant, eyes flashing. "He is sentenced to death, and that is _final!_" Uther spat. "Take him away!"

And while everyone was staring at Merlin, who was, in turn, staring at Arthur, who was trying to stop the guards from advancing on Merlin, something unexpected happened. There was a bit of shuffling, a yell, a thump from somewhere outside the window, a weak "Ouch…", and when everyone looked back to the king… he was gone. His crown, however, was on the floor, spinning slowly, next to an open window.

Arthur's eyes snapped up to Merlin, whose mouth fell open. "Don't look at me!" he protested. "I didn't use magic to throw your father out the window!"

There was an uncomfortable "ahem" as a nervous person cleared their throat, and then Gwaine, who was standing near the window, tried to sidle out of the room, whistling. Both Arthur and Merlin blocked his way. "Ga-waine," Merlin drawled, giving his ale-loving friend an exasperated look that was half-amused and half-scolding.

Gwaine shuffled his feet and studied a speck on his boots. "Yeees?" he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Did you throw the king out the window?"

Arthur smacked his palm against his forehead as Gwaine nodded slowly. "Why," the prince asked incredulously, "would you _do_ that?"

Gwaine looked at the prince. "I panicked," he said solemnly. His eyes were twinkling a bit, though, and both Merlin and Arthur figured he'd enjoyed it more than he was letting on.

Arthur sighed and jerked his head in Gaius's general direction. "I'll go tell Gaius to meet me in his chambers. Leon, you go fetch my father. Merlin…"

"I'll go see if Kilgharrah knows any memory modification spells," Merlin put in helpfully, to which Arthur nodded wearily.

"What can I do?" Gwaine asked, stepping forward, a crooked grin on his handsome, scruffy face.

"Gwaine," Arthur sighed, massaging his temples. "Just… go to your room. I think you've 'helped' enough tonight."

Gwaine sulked for a minute but then remembered that he had a flask of ale under his bed and took off out of the hall. Arthur walked toward Gaius as Leon departed to go find the king who was probably lying somewhere on the ground outside the window.

After everyone had dispersed and Merlin was left alone in the Great Hall, he had to chuckle before heading out to call Kilgharrah. Despite the circumstances, he _had_ to admit that it _had_ been a little – okay, maybe a _lot_ – funny to see Gwaine tossing the king of Camelot out the window.

He went to find the Great Dragon, knowing that someone else was going to get a laugh out of this, too. _Never a dull day in Camelot_, he decided as he slipped through the trees, on his way to the meeting spot, _especially when Gwaine's in the picture._

* * *

Back in his room, Gwaine congratulated himself for doing something he'd been wanting to do since the first time he laid eyes on Uther Pendragon.

"To sweet revenge," he toasted himself, and took a swig of ale.

Best. Day. Ever.

* * *

**A/N: Hee hee… do you see why I had fun with that? As a bit of a side note, I think I'm going to "complete" Sesquipedalian after I get to chapter thirty. I will eventually either "uncomplete" and continue writing it, or start a "sequel" later, when I have more time. But for the forseeable future, this fic will have 30 chapters. :) I'm also thinking about taking some of the bigger and/or popular fics within this collection and publishing them separately as their own story because I'd like them to be their own story, lol… Thoughts?**

**Anyway, thanks SO much for reading and please review! I honestly have NO idea what the next word's going to be, so it'll be a surprise when the next chappie gets here! LOL. Call me lazy, but I just don't know. XD **

**Please let me know what you think; see you with chapter 28 soon! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	28. Ruse

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Merlin_ or the game/dictionary _Sesquipedalian_ that I use to get the majority of my words!_

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**A/N: Long author's note here… you have been warned. :) Skip if you'd like, but you might be interested in what's going down. **

**Needless to say, I've decided to continue on with this. I'm not going to say how many chapters there will be when all is said and done, because quite honestly, I don't know. But as of now, the ****_Sesquipedalian_**** project is underway once more. I'll try to update it as often as I can, but since it's not, for the most part, an ongoing story, it might not get updated as often as my other fics. I will, however, try to write new stories as soon as possible. Right now, I'm doing this because I've hit a lull in my ****_Psych _****fan-fiction and I need to write something ****_Merlin_****, instead!**

**Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. I'm trying to do this totally at random now. Whereas I would sometimes think of a story line and then search for a word to fit it, I am now going to try to totally randomize the process by choosing a random word from my handy-dandy dictionary and then molding the story around it. Here's hoping all goes well!**

**I'll go ahead and get my next word to post at the end of the chapter, but I may or may not have thought of a plotline for it by the time I post the story, so you might just get a word and not a summary at the end. We shall see. :)**

**CHAPTER NOTES: Okay, so I know that the word I'm using is only one syllable and very simple, yet it was in my ****_Sesquipedalian _****dictionary and it was the one that I found at random (used a random number generator to get me page 31, word 3), so it's the one I'm going to use! Also, it'll take place somewhere in season 3, so potential spoilers, though not necessarily to a specific episode.**

**Enjoy, and please review!**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian **

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Ruse**

_ruse, __**n.**__  
(rooz)  
A clever trick, plan, or maneuver_

"This is a foolish idea, Merlin."

Merlin glanced at Gaius from where he was standing by the door, about to leave. He had followed Morgana the night before and, despite having nearly lost her a couple of times and only hearing the tail end of the conversation, knew that she and Morgause were plotting something, something that they were going to meet about again tonight. They were planning to meet at moon-high, and he even knew their meeting spot: the Hand of the Gods, a large, amazingly hand-like tree that grew in the middle of a clearing about an hour and a half into the Darkling Woods. It had a thick, straight trunk with five branches sprouting out of it in a way that made them look like outstretched fingers reaching for the heavens. Not everyone knew about it, but most of the knights did, although they mostly steered clear of the place because it had an eerie, almost haunted feel to it. It was the perfect opportunity, and despite the fact that it would uproot Arthur's life as he knew it, Merlin feared that it had become necessary.

Arthur needed to know about Morgana's treachery. He and his father had nearly died several times at her hand, and although Merlin couldn't outright _tell_ Arthur that she was plotting against him, the prince needed to know nonetheless. So upon finding out about the upcoming meeting between Morgause and Morgana, he had come up with what he thought was quite an ingenious plan, but that Gaius had been persistently poking holes in since Merlin had relayed his plan over breakfast. Still, Merlin was not to be dissuaded, and he shook his head even as Gaius tried to convince him to forget the whole thing once more.

"No, Gaius. He _needs_ to know. It'll be hard for him, but Arthur needs to be aware of the kind of danger that Camelot is in, that he is in… He needs to be able to be on the lookout, too, because even though I'm able to protect him most of the time from Morgana, what if something happens, and I'm not able to get to him in time? Let's just hope that Arthur is going to act predictably; I'm pretty sure he'll follow the instructions, but since it's me, and not Gwen, he might not worry about it."

Gaius gave Merlin a withering look. "Please, Merlin. You know that Arthur cares for you. He has put his life on the line many times to save yours. If you do this, he will come. But it is dangerous, my boy. If just one thing goes wrong…"

"It won't," Merlin said. "Stop worrying, Gaius."

And with that, he turned and left the physician's chambers, ready to set the wheels of his plan into motion.

* * *

It was nearing sundown when Arthur finally was able to return to his chambers. There had been a council meeting, and all that they had discussed were taxes, agriculture, and a small outbreak of sneezing in the lower town. Somehow, though, the meeting had managed to drag on for nearly two hours, and Arthur was frustrated and exhausted. The greatest cause of his irritation, however, was his servant, who had not brought Arthur his dinner, had not come to get him ready for the meeting, and who had apparently decided to skip out on the meeting as well, despite the fact that Arthur required him to be there (not necessarily because he needed him there, but so that Arthur wouldn't have to be the only one bored out of his mind). He had sent someone looking for for his wayward servant before the meeting, but they had come back shortly and said that he wasn't in any of his usual haunts. Needless to say, Arthur hadn't been happy.

He was even _less_ happy when he came back to a room that hadn't been touched while he'd been in the meeting, with armor in the corner that _still_ needed polishing, and _still _no late, cold dinner on the table. Merlin had apparently not been in at all in the two hours that Arthur had been in the meeting. A small twinge of unease wormed its way into Arthur's mind, but he dispelled it, telling himself that Merlin was probably at the tavern, where he seemed to spend most of his time these days.

Arthur went farther into his room, fuming about his servant's incompetence, and that's when he saw it: On top of his bed covers, folded neatly, was Merlin's neckerchief. Arthur scoffed, striding forward to inspect the stupid garment and already preparing a lecture for Merlin about leaving his clothes in Arthur's room. On top of the neckerchief was a piece of parchment, folded several times. Written on the front in a scrawling hand that Arthur didn't recognize was, "Prince Arthur."

The niggling sensation that something wasn't quite right was back with a vengeance, but Arthur tried to tell himself that Merlin had probably left a note full of excuses as to why he'd failed to show up to work this afternoon. Why he'd leave his neckerchief as well, Arthur didn't know, but the scrap of cloth really didn't sit well with him for some reason.

With hands that were most certainly _not_ trembling slightly, Arthur unfolded the note and read its contents. His stomach churned and anger made him see red as he read:

_Prince Arthur,_

_I have your servant. He's unharmed, for now, but will not stay that way unless you meet me at the Hand of the Gods at moon-high tonight. Come alone. We will discuss the terms for getting your servant back upon your arrival. Come to the edge of the clearing and wait until I call you forth. If you are not there, Merlin will die._

_See you soon._

The nagging worry grew into full-blown fear for his servant (although he would deny feeling even the slightest bit of concern for his servant later), and he vowed then and there that whoever had taken Merlin would pay severely.

He didn't even think about not going, even though he knew his father wouldn't approve. He didn't inform his father of what had happened, and slipped out of the castle and to the stables. Within the hour, he was well on his way to the Hand of the Gods, prepared to do anything to rescue that trouble-attracting servant of his.

Whoever took Merlin would have _hell_ to pay.

* * *

When he got to the clearing, Arthur did as the note had said, staying hidden behind the trees and the fringe of the forest. He needed to get a good look at the situation first, anyway.

He fully expected to see some bandits or a sorcerer standing over an unconscious or bound Merlin, demanding that Arthur follow his instructions if he didn't want Merlin to die. Instead, he saw... Morgana.

Frowning, Arthur wondered if maybe the kidnapper had contacted his father's ward, as well, and he was about to call out to her when something shifted in the air. It wasn't anything palpable, and Arthur really didn't know what had changed. There seemed to be a chill in the air that wasn't there before, and a sense of utter _wrongness_ invaded his being. Arthur stayed his tongue, opting to wait a little bit longer to see what Morgana would do. Any sign of danger to her, though, and Arthur would be out in the clearing, protecting her.

And Arthur still didn't see Merlin anywhere.

Only moments after the odd feeling settled over Arthur, a figure emerged from the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. It was obviously female, but other than that, Arthur couldn't tell anything about the stranger, for she wore a dark cloak, and the cowl shadowed most of her face. Arthur tensed where he hid, still trying to figure out why Morgana was here and what this mysterious kidnapper had done with Merlin. From the nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach at the woman's sudden appearance, Arthur decided that this probably was _not_ an ally and more than likely had something - or everything - to do with Merlin's kidnapping. Arthur's hand automatically found the hilt of his sword in a wave of anger, but he held back. Still, he remained ready to jump to the rescue if he saw Merlin, or if Morgana appeared to be in any immediate danger from the newcomer.

To his surprise, Morgana hurried to the mystery woman's side and embraced her, a genuine smile lighting up her pretty face. "Sister," she said. "Thank you for meeting me again. I know it's soon, since we just met yesterday, but we were not able to discuss everything. If only I hadn't had to be back in Camelot by sunrise, we would have had more time. I hope it won't be dangerous for you, coming two nights in a row."

Arthur's mind whirled. _Sister? _He didn't know what was going on, but he thought that if Morgana had a sister, he would know about it. Then he was reminded of how Morgana had been more reserved than usual since she had been rescued, and he wondered if he would.

Finally, the woman pulled her hood back, shocking Arthur to no end.

Morgause.

The woman who had taken Morgana away, the one who they had rescued Morgana from, she was meeting with Morgana in the middle of the Darkling Woods, and Morgana was _happy _to see her? Feeling sick and forcing himself not to go charging into the clearing just yet, Arthur wondered if Morgana had been brainwashed or enchanted. As much as he resented the idea of Morgana being enchanted, Arthur hoped that it was the case, because the alternative was too painful to contemplate. Unfortunately, though, Arthur had a bad feeling that the alternative was actually the case, because even if Morgana had been enchanted or brainwashed, surely she wouldn't look _that_ at ease and happy. And if Morgause really was her sister…? Arthur didn't want to think about it.

They were talking again, and Arthur strained to listen; their voices were soft, but a slight breeze seemingly from nowhere carried them to his ears. He was appalled at what he heard.

"Have you any news from Cenred?" Morgana asked.

"Yes. He will have men prepared to attack whenever we have decided the best means to get to Arthur," Morgause smiled, and Arthur's heart twisted grotesquely at the look of excitement on Morgana's face.

"Hopefully an opportunity will come soon," said Morgana earnestly. "I _need_ Arthur out of the way. I want him dead." Arthur's world shattered into a million pieces, but he forced himself to continue listening and not have some kind of breakdown on the spot. This couldn't be happening!

"I know, Sister. But the path to the throne will not be a simple one. You must be prepared to wait. We will strike when the time is right."

Morgana nodded curtly, her lips pressed together in an unhappy line. "All the same," she said, "the longer he lives, the more I fear that our goals will never be realized."

"We are lucky that he remains oblivious to our plight, though, Morgana. Don't forget that."

"But Merlin's not," Morgana countered, her eyes burning with an angry fire that nearly made Arthur's already pounding heart stop all together. The enmity in her voice was beyond hatred; it was loathing. What had _Mer_lin done to cause such intense distaste in his father's ward, disturbed as she apparently was? Arthur seethed in anger, knowing that Morgana and Morgause had probably kidnapped Merlin. Arthur shifted slightly, trying to see around the supposed sisters, wondering if he had somehow missed Merlin in the clearing earlier. Maybe he was hidden on the other side of the Hand of the Gods, but Arthur had circled the clearing upon first arriving, and he hadn't seen anyone, least of all his missing manservant. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Morgause. We cannot seem to rid ourselves of him, and he knows about our treachery. Previous attempts to kill him have ended in defeat, and it is only a matter of time before he goes to Arthur, consequences be damned. They're too close, and Merlin has made it clear that he would do anything to keep Arthur safe. If he remains alive and well, you know he will try to find a way to thwart whatever plans we have for Camelot. We need to get rid of him permanently."

Morgause kept quiet during this speech, a thoughtful look on her lean face. "Yes, Morgana, we must do something about this serving boy who thinks he's a knight. But if he is as close to Prince Arthur as you say, we will have to be subtle about his disappearance. Make it look like an accident. And that, too, will take time to plan and execute."

"I know," Morgana said stiffly, hatred boiling in her eyes. "But I want him dead. Even more than Arthur, I want that traitor Merlin to suffer!"

Morgause put a gentle hand on Morgana's shoulder in a comforting manner, as if they were discussing something mundane like the taxes going up or crops being low, not the torture and murder of Arthur's servant and friend. Arthur was sick as he reflected on what had been revealed. Not only was Morgana working with Morgause to kill Arthur and his father and take over Camelot, but they desperately wanted Merlin dead, and not only dead, but to suffer beforehand. And apparently they'd tried to kill him before? Arthur wondered when this could have happened, fury washing over him anew at the thought of Merlin at the mercy of the murderous pair before him. He was brought back suddenly to the time that Merlin had been missing for quite some time, right before the undead army attacked the citadel, and recalled how when Arthur had asked where Merlin had been, he'd responded, "I was dying." Could that have been…? Arthur shook his head; now was not the time to dwell on these things.

Morgana and Morgause had taken Merlin and -

Arthur frowned. If they already had Merlin, why would they be meeting to plot his demise? It didn't make sense, and Arthur realized that something wasn't quite right here - besides the obvious, that his father's ward and his friend was allied with a witch who wanted to see Camelot fall and Merlin dead.

The two talked for quite a while, but it was mostly small talk ("How have you been sleeping, Morgana?" "Very well, Morgause, thanks to the healing bracelet. It is a treasured gift." "I am glad you are able to use it, Sister."), and when they parted about half an hour later, Arthur still hadn't seen hide or hair of his captured idiot.

Mind still trying to grasp everything he had learned, and a numb, horrible shock settling over his body, Arthur waited until he was sure that both women were gone before he turned to leave, not sure what to do next, about Merlin, about Morgana, about… anything. Surprisingly, though (and Arthur later said that it was because of the shock, and not because of any real sense of worry), Merlin was foremost on his mind. Where in the whole bloody kingdom was-

"Merlin!" he sputtered, having turned around to see the bloody imbecile standing right in front of him, unharmed. There was a nervous, almost mournful look in his eyes, and Arthur narrowed his eyes at this new development. He thought about clapping Merlin on the shoulder in relief (in fact, he almost did), but he restrained, and opted to glare at his servant with barely contained relief instead.

"Arthur," Merlin said, and his voice was somewhat hoarse.

"How did you escape?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "What happened?"

Merlin blinked. "Oh," he said. "That."

Arthur's glare became increasingly suspicious. "Yes, _Mer_lin. _That._"

"Oh," said Merlin again, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, you see-"

"You weren't actually kidnapped, were you, Merlin?" Arthur asked dryly, irritation quickly overcoming any other emotion that might be vying him for attention at the moment.

"Oh," Merlin said a third time, "um, no. Not really."

Arthur resisted the urge to throttle his servant. "Did you write that note?" he asked angrily, but he kept his voice relatively even, knowing that that would probably make the servant more nervous.

Merlin just nodded, looking quite ill at ease, which pleased Arthur greatly. "Mm-hm."

Arthur fought not to explode on the spot. "Why the hell did you do that, Merlin? You had me running through the bloody forest in the little hours of the morning, chasing some useless servant who decided it would be good fun, a good laugh to _kidnap himself_."

Merlin frowned thoughtfully, and even had the mind to look a bit embarrassed, as if he had just realized how silly that sounded. He quickly covered it up with a smile and a, "Did I worry you, Sire?"

Arthur seethed. "Oh, no, Merlin. I was actually just coming to make sure that whoever had you was going to keep you forever."

Merlin winced. Arthur knew that he was well aware of how much of an utter lie Arthur's words were, but they still had to sting. Good. Idiot deserved it for scaring Arthur. Not that Arthur would _ever_ admit it, but he had been scared. The thought of anyone harming Merlin, who had somehow wriggled his way into Arthur's heart as a dear friend (although, again, Arthur would die painfully and cruelly before he ever admitted anything of the sort), had terrified the prince. He had been prepared to do whatever he had to to rescue him from his captors. If only Arthur had realized that Merlin's captor was Merlin, he wouldn't have had to go on this stupid wild idiot chase. But if he hadn't, Morgana's treachery would still be unknown to him, and he wouldn't know how much his servant had actually done for him.

The thought of Morgana and Morgause trying to kill Merlin and nearly succeeding, and their subsequent plans to do away with the man once and for all made any abating anger return at full force, though this time, it wasn't all specifically aimed toward Merlin. Merlin just happened to be the only one present to feel Arthur's wrath.

"You did this so I'd see Morgana with Morgause, didn't you?" Arthur said in a strained voice. He was trying his hardest not to yell. "You didn't think that you could just _come_ to me about this?"

"Would you have listened?" Merlin shot back. "No, you would've called me an idiot and threatened to put me in the stocks if I spoke such treason again." His voice softened. "I know you, Arthur. Morgana is like your family. You wouldn't have believed it, wouldn't have wanted to believe it."

"I still don't," Arthur said heavily, the fight draining out of his voice.

"I know," Merlin responded, eyes sad.

"How long have you known?"

"Since the undead army." Ah-ha! So Arthur had been right. "I followed Morgana, and she and Morgause trapped me and almost killed me."

"How?"

Merlin's ears turned red. "I guess I wasn't as good at sneaking around as I thought."

Arthur snorted. "Not that, you idiot. How did they almost kill you?"

"It doesn't matter-"

"_Merlin_."

Merlin sighed. "Serkets. They left me chained up in the middle of a Serket nest."

Arthur sucked in a deep breath, aghast. "How did you survive?"

Merlin smiled gravely. "Gaius had the antidote on hand, thankfully."

"I threw things at you when you came back."

Merlin smirked. "No different than normal."

"I said I wouldn't've minded if you'd died."

Merlin sighed, sensing Arthur's guilt. "You didn't know."

"You told me."

"Since when have you _ever_ listened to me?" Merlin asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, if you wouldn't speak such nonsense most of the time, maybe I'd listen more," Arthur said waspishly, falling back easily on their usual banter as a stronghold as the whirring emotions began to try and overtake him.

"Prat," Merlin snapped good-naturedly, and then he sobered. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Arthur."

"Yeah, well," said the prince. "Me too."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing, right now. Keep an eye on her. Is she… enchanted?" he asked, somewhat hopefully.

Any small hopes disappeared when Merlin shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry. It's of her own free will."

"Are you _sure_?"

Merlin looked at Arthur apologetically. "Positive."

Arthur took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, overwhelmed. He took another breath. "Okay," he said again. "I'll just have to keep an eye on things for now. I'll figure out the rest at a later time. For now, we need to get back to the castle. You have an appointment first thing tomorrow morning," he added.

Merlin did not look reassured. "With who?"

"The stocks and some baskets of vegetables," Arthur said, smirking at the look on his friend's face.

"But I helped you," Merlin pointed out. "You know about a threat-"

"Maybe so," Arthur interrupted. "But you didn't have to go about it the way you did, although I suppose I _am_ a bit grateful that you brought this to my attention."

"A bit?!" Merlin protested, voice squeaking slightly.

Ignoring him, something that Arthur was _very_ good at doing by now, Arthur said, "When I saw the ransom note, I promised myself that whoever had taken you would have hell to pay. And you took you. So you will have to pay."

"That's counterproductive," Merlin quickly pointed out, knowing that no amount of protesting would get him out of this one.

"Well, if you weren't such an idiot…"

Merlin and Arthur set off for the city, each one battling their own inner turmoil, but on top of Morgana's betrayal and the looming visit to the stocks, each man couldn't help but feel a ray of hope and happiness.

Merlin was safe, and Arthur was going to make sure that the idiot stayed that way, especially now that he knew that there was a real, dangerous threat out there to his servant.

And Merlin could barely contain his smile, because even though Arthur denied it, and would always deny it, he had made it crystal clear just how important his servant was to him. Merlin knew then that he wasn't just Arthur's servant, but that Arthur truly considered him a friend.

Being kidnapped by himself and being put in the stocks as a result was a small price to pay for that bit of knowledge.

* * *

**A/N: That was fun to write :) I kinda had to force the first bit out, but after that, it flowed. I hope you guys enjoyed! I'm at work and don't have my dictionary with me, so I won't be able to post the next word right now, but I'll add it later when I get home. Also, I'll put it on my Facebook page, Emachinescat, so if you don't already like me on Facebook and you want to find out ASAP, feel free to find me and hit that "like" button! :)**

**Please review!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	29. Bedizen

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin_, people! If I did, the show would still be going on! :)_

* * *

**A/N: Hey, everyone! I'm still alive in the Merlin fandom! I will say that this installment took me completely by surprise. I was sitting there, doing nothing much of anything, and then I thought, "I want to write the next Sesquipedalian story," and so I did. This is mildly crack-ish. I would say all the way crack-ish, but after seeing how helpless Arthur was getting dressed when Gaius tried to help him in the show, well... I figured this might not be too far-fetched, though it is rather silly. XD It takes place in season two, and has mild spoilers for "The Once and Future Queen." Please read, review, and enjoy! :D**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Bedizen**

_bedizen,__**v.  
**__(bih-DAHY-zuhn)  
To dress or adorn in a showy, gaudy, or tasteless manner_

It was a sad day when the prince of Camelot couldn't dress himself properly.

Merlin had had a bit of a spill on the training field the day before; he'd been the victim of one of Arthur's favorite "torture Merlin" sessions, where he'd been made to strap a big wooden target on his back and then run back and forth across the field while Arthur threw knives and small axes and other such pointy objects at him – well, at the target, but it all felt very much the same to Merlin – and Merlin had accidentally stepped in a hole, wrenched his ankle as he fell forward, and wound up with a highly painful, super sensitive, enormously swollen and radically colorful ankle as a result.

Arthur had been worried and a bit guilty, Merlin could tell, though he'd covered it up with his usual insults and irritation, calling Merlin a clumsy idiot, never mind that he'd just been chucking deadly weapons at his retreating back. He'd helped an only half-aware Merlin to Gaius's chambers, and when he asked why Merlin wasn't responding normally, Gaius had concluded that his body was going through some kind of shock at the sudden, debilitating pain. His ankle wasn't broken, but it had been wrenched terribly, and he wouldn't be able to walk on it for a couple of weeks, at least.

After finding this out, Arthur had called Merlin useless, accused him of intentionally spraining his ankle so he could get out of work, and then gave him an almost kind pat on the shoulder, told him to get better, and said that he _might_ come by after the council meeting tomorrow night to check on him, if he had the time, and hadn't forgotten about Merlin by then.

His words were rude and unkind, but his eyes told another story; Arthur had never been particularly good at expressing his emotions about anything other than hunger, annoyance, or anger, and Merlin had learned early on in their relationship that an irritable, grumpy and rude Arthur was actually just a guise to cover up whatever else he was feeling. And judging by the poorly concealed look in his eyes, he had been feeling pretty guilty about Merlin's fall and the pain he was in, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone (probably not even himself, Merlin decided).

Merlin had begged Gaius to let him at least _try_ to heal it with magic (he hadn't really mastered any healing spells yet, but now seemed like to be the optimal time to try), but Gaius wouldn't hear of it.

"Merlin, if you were to get up after severely injuring your ankle, don't you think Arthur would be suspicious?"

"He's pretty oblivious. I don't think he'd pay much mind," had been Merlin's answer.

"You need to let this heal naturally," Gaius had admonished. "Remember what happened the last time you tried a healing spell on an injured sparrow?"

Merlin winced. The poor bird had had a broken wing, Merlin had felt sorry for it, and he really hadn't meant to turn it into a sprig of yarrow.

"I don't think I'll turn my foot into an herb," he said hopefully.

"Merlin, be quiet and drink your medicine," Gaius had sighed as way of ending the conversation. "It'll help with the pain."

* * *

And so it was that Arthur was left without a servant, and the servant that had taken Merlin's place the day before had gone to supper with the other servants. Arthur looked at the large plate of food in front of him at his own table, and thought that he'd like to share it with someone special.

He thought of Guinevere, with her smooth skin and beautiful black curls, and brown eyes so deep he could drown in them. He'd checked on Merlin earlier, using the excuse of wanting to make sure the idiot wasn't faking his injuries to get out of work, but really just wanting to make sure the servant was feeling okay. It had unnerved him more than he cared to admit to see all the color drain out of Merlin's face yesterday after he'd tripped, and to see him quivering all over, barely able to string two words together because of the pain. He'd pretty much had to _carry_ Merlin to the physician's chambers, for heaven's sake!

Merlin had been sleeping when he'd gotten there, though, the offending foot wrapped heavily in gauze and propped up on a few meager pillows, and Gaius said his injury was doing as well as expected, but that Merlin had been driving him up the wall wanting to try to get up and do something, so he'd tricked him into taking a sleeping potion. Arthur had commended the old physician for his creativity and craftiness, and had gone on his way to eat his dinner, which led to him now wishing to share it with Guinevere.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was actually kind of lonely without Merlin sticking about to tease him and talk his ears off, because the temporary replacement was boring, kind of dull, and he smelled oddly of sour feet, which was why Arthur had sent him away while he ate, because the smell was making him a bit nauseated.

Arthur stood up, walked to the door, and then realized that he was still wearing his muddy, smudged breeches and tunic from training earlier, and that would hardly do for calling upon a beautiful woman. He needed to get dressed, and quickly, before the meat went cold!

He walked to his wardrobe, threw open the doors, and balked at the sheer number of clothing articles that greeted him. Since when had he had so many clothes? Did he really need five pairs of trousers of the exact same material? And where had that deep blue frilly thing that was supposed to pass for a shirt come from? He supposed it was fancy, though, for only the best of occasions… He harrumphed, not having bothered looking in his wardrobe in longer than he could remember, because he always had a servant help him get dressed. And he'd just sent away the servant that would have done that.

"I'm a prince," Arthur said as he glared imposingly at his clothing, as if attempting to intimidate it into cooperating with him. "I can dress myself, and I can do it well."

He started rifling through the articles, determined to be dressed his best when he went to surprise Guinevere with a dinner fit for a prince.

* * *

Gwen wasn't exactly looking forward to eating another meal of tough smoked chicken and watercress, but she had to eat what she had, even if she had been eating it for the past three days.

She was contemplating this when there was a knock at her door. Brows furrowed, she stood up from where she had been sitting at her table, walked to the door, and opened it, wondering who would be calling on her at this time of evening.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw no one other than Prince Arthur standing at her doorstep, cloak around his shoulders and hood over his head, a basket in one hand and the other hand clenching the fabric of his cloak shut around his chest, trying to conceal his appearance as much as possible, probably so that the guards wouldn't recognize him and start asking questions about why he was visiting peasants at this time of day with a picnic basket in tow.

"Arthur," she said. "What a wonderful surprise. What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might enjoy having dinner with me," Arthur said grandly, lifting the basket slightly. "Can I come in? Sorry; I don't want my father to hear about this and get suspicious."

Gwen nodded quickly, her heart pounding at the thought of Arthur surprising her with dinner! It was wonderfully romantic, and it showed that he was truly making an effort to—

Her line of thought was abruptly cut off as Arthur stepped over the threshold, closed the door behind him, and then took of his cloak, revealing the… erm… attire that lay beneath.

He was wearing tight breeches made of what looked to be softened leather that went to just below his knees. They were dyed bright red and left little to the imagination. His deep blue tunic, garnished with ruffles at every turn, hung to just below the waistline. The front of the shirt, along with its ruffles, was accented with golden thread that just made the attire that more gaudy and atrocious. Thick white stockings traveled up his legs and up under the hem line of his trouser legs, and fine leather boots covered about half of the socks.

Gwen snorted in laughter, but quickly covered it up with a cough and a sniffle that she thought was quite convincing. What on earth had possessed Arthur that he would be wearing _that_ monstrosity? Was this some kind of a joke? But no, looking at his handsome face, into his deep blue eyes, she realized that he was being completely genuine right now. Which meant…

He actually thought that what he was wearing was… nice? Elegant? She wasn't sure, but it made the hat Merlin had worn when he'd been poisoned last year pretty tame. Merlin! Could this be some kind of trick on Arthur on Merlin's part?

"Guinevere, are you taking ill?" Arthur asked, quickly striding forward, setting the basket down on the ground beside him, and gently cupping her face in his warm hand. The lace on the end of his sleeve tickled her face, and she fought the urge to giggle.

"No, my lord," Gwen quickly managed, keeping her eyes on his face, because if she were to look at his clothing, she might lose it. "Um, did Merlin pick out your attire?"

"No," Arthur said. "He's injured."

"Oh, no!" Gwen said. "What happened?"

"He was a clumsy oaf and twisted his ankle. But don't worry; he'll be fine. And I sent off his temporary replacement to eat his own dinner, so I picked out my wardrobe myself." He beamed. "I found the most elegant ensemble for our dinner, my beautiful Guinevere, because you deserve only the best."

Gwen smiled, her eyes dancing, hoping that she would be able to get through the dinner without completely losing control, because Arthur was so sincere – and so helplessly unfashionable without the help of a servant, it seemed, and no wonder; people had been picking out his clothes for him since he was born – and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

But, oh heavens, did he look _ridiculous_! It was precious, in a hilarious sort of way.

* * *

Arthur decided to check on Merlin one more time after his date with Guinevere, to see if he was awake. He was slightly troubled, and even though he complained about Merlin every chance he got, the servant had actually somehow gained Arthur's trust, and even though he was an idiot, there were occasions where he was sometimes wise, and he needed some advice.

He knocked on Gaius's door. No one opened it for him, but a voice from inside, Merlin's voice, told him he could come in.

So he did.

Merlin was sitting at the table in one of the crudely carved chairs, foot propped up in another one, absently picking at a bowl of some unappetizing mixture with a spoon. "Gaius is out on his late rounds in the castle," Merlin said, looking up. "He—"

He looked up and choked, even though he hadn't been eating anything. His expression was unreadable, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. "Um, Arthur," he said. "What—?"

"I know, you're supposed to be resting," Arthur said grumpily as he plopped down into the chair across the table from Merlin, the servant's eyes watching him strangely the whole time. "But I was just on my way back from Guinevere's and I—"

"Hold on," Merlin said, eyes wide, and he looked so horrified that Arthur forgot to remind him that he was a servant and Arthur was a prince and servants did _not_ interrupt princes, _ever_.

"What?" Arthur asked quickly, resisting the urge to swing around and see if some horrible beast was sneaking up behind him. "What is it?"

"You visited Gwen?"

Arthur frowned. "Yes. Did you sprain your hearing as well as your foot?" It was a stupid insult, so much so that neither young man acknowledged it.

"Like that? You visited Gwen?"

"_Yes_, _Mer_lin. What are you on about?"

"Who, ah… Who helped you get dressed, sire?"

"_I_ did. I'm not entirely incapable of taking care of myself like you might think."

"Well, erm, did you happen to… I don't know… get dressed in the dark or something?" Arthur glared at his servant, who quickly backtracked, "because if you did, that's great. I mean, getting dressed in the dark is a skill that few have mastered…"

"_What_ are you trying to say, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, and then shook his head as if resigning himself to something. "You know what, Arthur? I'm not trying to say anything. I'm sure you and Gwen had a lovely time."

"I hope so," Arthur said, troubled. "But she was coughing and sniffling and even snorted a few times during our meal. I think she might be getting ill."

Merlin snorted.

"Oh, no, not you too!" Arthur moaned. "Is there some sort of sickness going around?"

Merlin looked very much like he wanted to say something in response, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Well?" said Arthur.

"I don't think I would worry, Arthur," Merlin finally said. "Gaius hasn't said anything about any kind of sickness."

"Oh," said Arthur, feeling a bit better. "Hopefully it was nothing."

"I'm sure it was," said Merlin, and he looked like he was holding back a smile.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, sire."

Arthur glared disbelievingly at Merlin for a moment, but then decided it would be safer for all of them if he didn't pursue this line of conversation any further. "How is your foot?" Arthur asked.

"About the same," Merlin admitted. "Gaius said it'll be a few weeks before I can fully use it again. Um… are you planning on letting a servant help you with everything while I'm out of commission? Like with dinner, and training, and I don't know, maybe getting dressed…?"

"Of course," Arthur said. "I'm not going to let your laziness affect my standard of living. Winston will be back first thing in the morning to attend to me."

"Oh," Merlin said, wrinkling his nose. "He smells like an old cheese."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I was thinking foot."

"It's not his fault," Merlin said. "Gaius said he has some sort of toe fungus he's been treating—"

"Enough information, Merlin. I'll ask you to mention to Gaius the possibility of speeding up his treatment if at all possible."

Merlin nodded. "I'm sure he'll do what he can, sire."

The door opened and Gaius walked in. "What are you wanting me to do, Merlin?" he asked, having come in at the tail end of the conversation. When he saw Arthur, his eyes went wide and his eyebrow nearly lifted off from his face it flew so high. "Sire!" he said incredulously. "What on _earth_ are you wearing? You… you look like an absolute…" He broke off, catching Arthur's warning glance, apparently remembering who he was talking to, and finished lamely, "dream. You look like an absolute dream."

"I'm not an idiot," Arthur said dryly. "I can see that you all _still_ haven't learned your lesson about lying to me because I'm a prince."

Merlin seemed relieved. "Oh, so this was another test, then? Like when you pretended to hunt after a bear-faced monster and instead secretly competed in the tournament a couple of months ago? Ah, that makes sense."

Arthur glared at him. "Actually, I was feeling quite good about myself until Guinevere started making all those strange noises during dinner, but I thought that it couldn't be my appearance clothing that was bothering her, because she knows that I don't want people lying to me to make me happy, so I decided that she must be ill, which was why I came to visit you. But the way you reacted to me and the way that Gaius reacted, well… I can tell that you don't approve of how I look, and instead of telling me the truth, you lied so I wouldn't get angry!"

Gaius gaped like a fish, and Merlin grinned sheepishly. "Did it work?"

"What do you think, _Mer_lin?"

"Well…"

"Shut up. If you don't like the way I styled my hair, you should have just said so. I'm not _that_ unapproachable, am I?"

He stormed out of the room.

* * *

Gaius and Merlin looked at each other for all of one moment after Arthur left the room and then burst out laughing. "He thought it was his _hair_ we were laughing at?" Merlin chortled, nearly knocking his bowl of soup over in his mirth.

"It's not his fault," Gaius pitifully tried to defend the prince. "He's had someone choose his clothes for him since he was born."

"Then shouldn't he at least have had an idea of what he should have chosen?"

Gaius shrugged his hunched shoulders, a lopsided grin on his wrinkled face. "He's just like his father in that way," he said. "Princely and noble and able to carry himself as a royal, but the moment he's faced to make a mundane decision about what to wear or which crown matches what robe, well, he just freezes. I think it's a result of all the pressure they go through every day."

"I think it's because he's got a thick head," Merlin supplied cheerily.

"Eat your dinner, Merlin, and don't say such things about our prince," Gaius scolded.

"Do you think he'll have someone help dress him tomorrow?" Merlin asked, finally scooping up a spoonful of soup, his spirits greatly improved since Arthur's hilarious visit.

"Oh, dear goodness, I hope so," Gaius said, sinking down into the chair across from Merlin that Arthur had previously occupied. "If not, he might very well cause a riot walking around in the castle like that."

Merlin laughed, then realized that Gaius was completely serious.

"Oh," he said blankly. "Wow."

* * *

Thankfully, a servant was there to assist Arthur with his wardrobe for the remaining time of Merlin's absence, but Merlin would never be able to get the image of Arthur's hideous outfit out of his mind, unfortunately.

The good side to all of this was that at last he finally understood that Arthur wasn't just being a lazy prat when he ordered Merlin to find his clothing and help him get dressed. He literally could not dress himself.

And although he complained about many things concerning his master and his lazy, prattish habits, Merlin never complained about helping Arthur with his wardrobe ever again.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! **

**I don't have my little dictionary with me right now, so I can't choose the next word, but I'll post it on Facebook when I do get it figured out. If you haven't liked me on Facebook, look me up to get update information, behind the scenes stuff, and thoughts and fanstuffs. :)**

**For anyone waiting for an update of "This Cold Land," it should be coming fairly soon. I finally finished the Psych story I was working on, and I'm going to finish TCL next! It shan't be long! (Bit of shameless self-promotion, if you're a fan of USA's _Psych_ or Harper Lee's _To Kill a Mockingbird_, check out my new fic, "The Finch and the Mockingbird" which has been completed and will be updated every Wednesday - two chapters are up so far!)**

**Anyway, thanks so much for reading this story! Hopefully more will come soon!**

**Please review! **

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	30. Zenzizenzizenzic

_Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own _Merlin.

* * *

**A/N: And now it's time for the newest installment in the _Sesquipedalian _series... Sorry it's been so long, but I _did_ warn you that new additions to this story would be kind of sporadic. :) I'm currently very busy with work and - I'm really excited about this one - my literature and creative writing graduate program I'm doing right now online, so it's a rare moment I have to write something, but I _made_ time today because this was positively screaming to be written! This was what I randomly chose, and since it's kind of a math term, it was hard to come up with something to go along with it. But I'm quite pleased with what came out of it. I'm kind of a sucker for stories where people underestimate Merlin and then learn that they are sorely mistaken, because, well, it makes for some great H/C. :D Also, I'm not entirely sure of my math skills, even though I do have a math major for a boyfriend, so I was intentionally vague with the tax stuff. Ah well. Ce la vie.**

**This takes place about mid-season one, so Arthur and Merlin are still learning about each other. **

**:) Thanks for all the great reviews for that last installment! Hope you enjoy this one just as much! Please review, and enjoy!**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Thirty: Zenzizenzizenzic **

_Zenzizenzizenzic, **n.  
**(ZEHN-zih-ZEHN-zih-ZEHN-zihk)  
The eighth power of a number_

Prince Arthur of Camelot was in his chambers, slumped at his dining table and pouring over a sizeable stack of boring parchment papers. The side of his face was cupped in his right hand, propped up by his elbow which was in turn propped on the heavy wood of the table. His light blue eyes skimmed the contents of the documents slowly, and he blinked owlishly as his mind began to wander – again – from his assigned task: he was meant to be reviewing the tax records for his father, who thought it would help to prepare him for when he was king, or some such rot. Arthur hated numbers and sums; he _could_ do sums, but he really had no desire to spend an afternoon – particularly a bright and sunny afternoon such as this – holed away in his dim chambers looking at taxes while the sun taunted him with its warm beams reaching through the open window. A bird was perched on the sill. Arthur thought that it was mocking him with its freedom, so he got up and shooed it away. He found he missed its chipper tune as soon as it flew away, however, and he returned to his workspace feeling even more despondent than before.

He had just pulled his chair out from the table when a thought occurred to him. He hadn't seen his servant since right after lunch, when Arthur had dismissed him to "do whatever great idiots like yourself do this time of day" because Arthur had important matters of state to attend to that Merlin's simple peasant brain simply couldn't comprehend. The dark-haired young servant had looked annoyingly pleased with this order and had scampered off in the direction of the physician's quarters, spouting something about getting caught up on some reading in his spare time. Arthur thought this odd, because he had never thought to ask Merlin if he could read; he had just assumed that because the servant had come from a poor family in an equally poor village, he had been out working the fields all day with no chance to learn how to read. But still, Arthur had let him go without a fuss, because he really had needed to get this work done for his father and having Merlin hovering over his shoulder with his ever-running mouth blathering on about nothing at all would not do him any favors if he wished to finish the tax reports by nightfall.

Now, however, Arthur decided that it would be great fun to fetch Merlin from his day off and drag him back to work, if only to have a bit of company. Otherwise, Arthur feared his brain just might decide to stop working altogether. The impulse to take the pile of parchment and toss it out the window in a blaze of exasperation was already too strong as it was.

So Arthur strode out of his rooms and veered down the hall toward Gaius's chambers, where he knew, more likely than not, the servant would be.

* * *

Merlin was shut up in his room when Arthur came to find him, and Gaius, who had been puttering around with several sprigs of green and yellow plants and something that looked suspiciously like a vial of some ungodly substance one might find in a chamber pot, had quickly told the prince that he himself would get Merlin; the boy's room was far too messy to be looked upon by that of a prince such as himself. Arthur's feather's stroked slightly at the praise, he let the matter go, for he really had no desire to see Merlin's rubbish bin of a room.

Merlin emerged from the room a moment later, face falling the tiniest bit when he saw who had come calling.

"Arthur," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I just came by for a friendly visit," Arthur snapped sarcastically. "Are you well?"

Either Merlin was employing a rather subtle kind of sarcasm in his response to his master, or he really was as thick as he looked. "Actually, I'm quite well; thanks for asking. Will that be all, because I—"

"I've decided that your services are required once more," Arthur announced regally. Merlin's shoulders slumped.

"Already? But it's hardly dinner time, and you said that I could have the afternoon off—"

"And now I'm saying otherwise," Arthur retorted loftily. "I _am_ the prince, you know. I have that power."

"To what, break your promises?" Merlin said a bit waspishly, but Arthur detected a hint of humor in his eyes.

"_Merlin!_" Gaius chided.

"Come along, Merlin. You can help me with these taxes," Arthur half-joked. "Unless you'd prefer to spend the rest of the evening getting reacquainted with the stocks?"

"It's hardly reacquainting since I was there just yesterday," Merlin replied breezily, and though Arthur pretended to be irritated at Merlin's belligerence, he was really very glad for the distraction as Merlin finally decided to do as he was told and followed him from the room.

* * *

Arthur settled back down at the table, his distraction now present and accounted for, and he reached for the stack of papers once more. His fingers bumped into the long, thin fingers of his servant as he did so, however, and he jerked his eyes up to meet Merlin's. "_What_," he began peevishly, "do you think you are doing, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin blinked. "Um… doing what you asked… for once?"

Arthur almost snorted in laughter at Merlin's little joke but instead frowned reproachfully. "You know I didn't _really _mean for you to help me review the taxes, Merlin," he drawled, amused, as he grabbed the parchment and shook it out from beneath Merlin's hand. He noticed for the first time that Merlin had sat himself down in a chair on the other side of the table. "Get up, make yourself useful. Clean something."

It was Merlin's turn to frown, it would seem, but Arthur didn't see much amusement in the servant's face. "I can help, Arthur. I'm not as daft as you think I am." He chuckled dryly. "Besides, I straightened up in here this morning. Even _you _aren't so much of a pig that you mess it up that quickly." The lame attempt at humor was pointedly ignored by Arthur.

"Oh, come off it, will you Merlin?" the prince said, somewhat irritably. He'd wanted the kind of distraction that Merlin usually provided – banter and jokes and rambling that would keep him from going mad from these reports. _Not_ whatever facsimile of his manservant seemed to have manifested in front of him. Merlin was rarely this ill-humored. If Arthur didn't know any better, he might say that Merlin seemed _offended_, which was stupid, because Merlin took any and every insult thrown his way by the prince and let them slide right off of him. "We both know that your idea of _clean _is substandard at the best, and even if you _can_ read, we both know taxes and sums are far beyond your abilities. So stop trying to be such a little girl about things and make yourself useful with something you actually _can _do."

Arthur realized too late that his frustrations with his father and the taxes had perhaps gotten to him a little more than he realized, as true hurt flared in Merlin's eyes for the fraction of a second before something more solidified – was that anger? – took its place. "Merlin," Arthur started to placate, lifting his hands up as if surrendering. "All I meant was—"

He started slightly as Merlin deftly reached over and snatched the tax reports from in front of Arthur and started flipping through them, determination in his eyes as he skimmed the numbers in a manner that was far more focused to anything he was used to with Merlin.

Arthur was too surprised to do anything for the time being, and he was also a little curious to see just what Merlin thought he could do with the pages, so he placed his hands on the table, folded neatly before him and leaned forward slightly in his seat to watch Merlin.

After a moment, Merlin's eyes snapped up to meet Arthur's, a mixture of emotions brewing in a sea of bright blue. He flipped the page he was looking at so that it was facing Arthur and with his finger pointed to a column of sums. "I think you'll find that these housing taxes are doubled nearly four times what they're meant to be, _sire_," Merlin said choppily. "Either your father has decided to rob the townsfolk blind or _someone_ isn't very good with sums." He stood up. "If that will be all," he said, and it wasn't a question. Just as well, because he didn't seem to be looking for an answer as he spun around and walked out of the door before Arthur had a chance to speak.

Arthur found himself waffling between going after Merlin or giving the figures another run through, but he finally decided that if Merlin was going to get his feelings hurt like a swooning damsel over nothing, that was his business. Scoffing, Arthur slowly turned his gaze back to the parchment, studying the numbers that Merlin had pointed out to him. His eyes widened as he re-examined what he had been so quick to brush off on his first sweep of the numbers. Merlin had been right. The total of taxes his father had written up to impose upon the villagers was far, far greater than it should be. Trying his best to ignore the tiny flicker of guilt trying to make itself known from the corner of his mind, Arthur stood to bring the documents to his father, knowing he had to report this drastic mistake as soon as possible – before the tax collectors had the opportunity to take their business to the lower town.

* * *

Arthur stood before his father, who was looking at the page Arthur had just showed to him and smiling.

"Very well done, Arthur," King Uther said warmly. "Well done, indeed."

Arthur's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Father?"

"I must admit, I was beginning to despair that you were never going to grasp this part of ruling," his father said, "and I was seriously considering placing you with a tutor once more in order to have your knowledge of numbers freshened a bit. But you caught this mistake – small on parchment, perhaps, but devastating when applied to real life – and I believe that my efforts to help you succeed with the financial part of being king have come through. Splendid work, Arthur."

"So… you put the mistake there purposely?" Arthur ventured. "It was a… test?"

"Indeed, son, a test which, I am very pleased to say, you passed."

That guilt was really trying to make itself known now, and Arthur turned away, not at all feeling as pleased with himself as he should have, but turned back to face his father once more. "What would have happened if I hadn't passed, Father?"

"Like I said – I would be re-appointing your old tutors. I know you are dreadfully old for a tutor, but you have to get the sums right, Arthur. This is _very _important."

Arthur thought about how Master Zekeiah, the man who had been ancient when he had taught Arthur ten years ago, and who was still alive and well, ridiculously old, today, and the way that the man had pounded facts and figures into the prince's head until Arthur thought his mind would snap. He certainly wouldn't have wanted to suffer through that again.

As Arthur slowly left the throne room with his father's misplaced praise echoing in his mind, he veered not for his own chambers but for the west tower that he knew from past searches for a particular wayward servant was where Merlin liked to be best when he wanted to think or get away from something.

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Merlin was indeed at the top of the west tower, leaning against the stone and looking out at the vast expanse of the kingdom and its wildest, closest neighbor, the Darkling Woods. Merlin had a sad look on his face, and Arthur was just about to say something to get his attention when he spoke.

"All my life, I've been looked down upon," Merlin said, and his voice didn't sound angry anymore. He just sounded resigned. "I'm the idiot, the klutz, and normally, I don't mind." He laughed a bit bitterly. "But the one time I'm actually asked to do something significant – not that scrubbing your dirty socks isn't terribly important, sire –" (Arthur snorted and even though Arthur could only see Merlin's back from this angle, he had a feeling that his servant was smiling, just a bit.) "—it's only to find out that it was just a joke because Merlin is an idiot and the underworld might just freeze over before he can actually do something intelligent, like sums or reading."

Merlin finally turned to meet his master's gaze and Arthur saw that Merlin was truly not angry anymore. He was hurt, though, and Arthur found that he disliked Merlin feeling hurt almost as much as his being angry. "How was I supposed to know you could so much as count?" Arthur burst out, upset at himself but not accustomed to admitting that he was wrong about something. "You come from a poor peasant village; most commoners don't know how to read or write, let alone do sums."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "You should have known because I told you I could do it, you prat."

"You lie all the time," Arthur shot back easily. "How was I to know that this was to be any different?"

Merlin looked torn between continuing to make his point and engaging once more in the banter that master and servant had long since adopted as norm. Finally, he said, in a much lighter tone, "I have never lied to you a day in my life!"

Arthur grinned and argued, "What about that time you told me that you were a sorcerer so that Guinevere wouldn't be arrested? That was a rather big lie."

For the tiniest second, Merlin seemed to stiffen, but then he shrugged and said, "I believe you'll find that friendship is a foreign concept to you, Arthur. Friends often take drastic measures to help one another. Even lie on occasion."

Arthur hummed slightly, then turned back to Merlin, serious. "Merlin, I… Well, I…"

"All's forgiven, turnip brain," Merlin acknowledged Arthur's pathetic excuse for an apology.

"_Turnip brian?"_

"Yes, well, that was a rather dismal error in the tax reports. If the castle idiot could have spotted it, what does that say about _you_?"

"I was tired," Arthur said. "Distracted." Merlin didn't look impressed. "The sun was in my eyes."

"You were sitting with your back to the sun."

"That doesn't make the sun any less brighter, _Mer_lin."

"Yes, well, it doesn't make you any _more _brighter, either, Arthur."

"Merlin!"

"Yes?" Merlin said innocently, and Arthur was pleased to see that the sparkle was back in his eyes.

"You really _are _an idiot most of the time, especially if you think you can get away with speaking to your prince in such a way… but, I have to ask. Where _did_ you learn to read and do sums?"

"Oh," Merlin said, smiling brightly now. "There was an old woman in our village who had spent her life traveling and writing her adventures. She would read us her stories and when I told her I wanted to be able to read them myself someday, she offered to teach me. Apparently, she was impressed with my ability to learn quickly, so she taught me how to do sums, too. She used to be the wife of a tax collector before he died."

"Ah," Arthur said slowly. "Well, that was nice of her, but she was obviously just lying to you about your learning ability, because we both know you're complete rubbish at learning new things."

"Only if you're the one trying to teach me," Merlin grinned. "A rubbish teacher yields rubbish students, or so I've heard."

And, while Arthur was still trying to ponder just how he was going to get back at Merlin for his rudeness, Merlin had darted off of the balcony and through the doorway, down the stairs and out of sight.

When Arthur returned to his room a bit later, however, his steaming dinner was on the table and Merlin was sitting on the floor, polishing Arthur's hauberk, which didn't seem to be getting any cleaner despite how many times Merlin wiped it with the rag in his hands.

Even so, Arthur turned to Merlin before he helped himself to his meal and said, "Thank you," and he could tell by the way Merlin smiled that the servant knew that Arthur wasn't just talking about dinner. Arthur wasn't very surprised that Merlin picked up on the double meaning of his thanks, though, for It seemed that Arthur wasn't the only one who was able to put two and two together after all.

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**Next Word: _bubkes, _which means "nothing". Should be fun. :)**

**I'll try to write the next one and post it as soon as possible! In the meantime, please review! ;) Thanks again!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	31. Bubkes

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin_._

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**A/N: So, another installment of this series, kind of out of the blue. :) This one, I want to note, does not deal with a whole lot of the reveal aftermath, only the immediate reaction and repercussions. Obviously, it's not going to be as easy as this in the long run. But we've got Arthur being a bit more practical than emotion-driven here, and Merlin's just going with the flow until he gets a feel of the situation. There's a lot more here that could be expanded on, but the truth is, I probably won't do a continuation. I've written so many reveal aftermath, "the talk", explanation scenes that they all seem to run together after a while. This is a story looking more at the... exterior view of things. And remember, we're seeing this from Merlin's POV, not Arthur's, so we don't have access to everything that Arthur's thinking or feeling, we only see what Merlin sees. Just keep that in mind. This is kind of an experiment of sorts, trying to take a new perspective on the initial reaction to the "aha!" moment. Sorry if I went overboard trying to explain. I didn't want anyone to think that I deliberately tried to skimp out on pieces of the story. :D I really hope you enjoy, and please review!**

* * *

**Sesquipedalian**

**Chapter Thirty-One: Bubkes**

_bubkes, __**n.  
**__(BUHB-kihs)  
Nothing_

The scariest thing about Arthur's reaction to Merlin's magic was that he didn't react at all.

Merlin sat on a log in the small clearing, holding bloody, bandaged arm to his chest, and he looked at Arthur's face, into his eyes, and he saw _nothing_.

Arthur didn't look angry. He didn't look scared. He didn't even look surprised. He just sat there on the other side of the campfire, expression perfectly arranged into a completely neutral expression. For a moment, one terrible, utterly irrational moment, Merlin thought that Arthur had died where he sat. But dead people didn't sit up straight, and they certainly didn't blink, and they didn't breathe, so Arthur was alive.

But he also wasn't responding.

Merlin's magic had been revealed by accident. The king and his entourage had been attacked by a hoard of bandits on a patrol along the border of the Darkling Woods. The four knights who had accompanied them had been slaughtered, and Merlin and Arthur had barely escaped with their lives. It was only because of Merlin that they had survived at all – as usual – but this time, Merlin hadn't had time for subtlety. He hadn't had time to hide. Already injured and weakened, with Arthur about to be cut down by more than a dozen bandits, Merlin had had no other choice. He had sent them flying, and then, promptly passed out, having expended the last of his strength.

When he woke up, he was in this clearing, his wound had been bound (badly, but Arthur was a king and not a physician), and Arthur had been sitting at the fire, staring. Just staring.

Merlin had approached the king and said his name, only his name, no title, no _sire_, and Arthur hadn't so much as flinched. And so Merlin had sat down across from him, and here they were now: Sitting in silence, with nothing in Arthur's eyes and no discernible expression on his face, and that's what terrified Merlin the most.

Merlin was about to try again, to lure Arthur out of this trance he seemed to be in, but that's when he saw the blood soaking through the tunic that Arthur wore under his chain mail, the same chain mail that Arthur had somehow managed to remove by himself while Merlin was sleeping. Forgetting his own fear and hurts for the moment, Merlin made his way slowly to Arthur, who didn't flinch, but simply turned his head to meet Merlin's eyes, and still that _nothing_ that was made of all that was wrong in the world…

Trying to clear his mind, Merlin spoke, and his voice came out weaker than he had intended. "Sire… Arthur… you're injured."

Arthur spoke for the first time, his blue eyes utterly unreadable. "So are you," he said blandly.

"But you took care of that… sort of," Merlin said, allowing the tiniest hint of a grin to touch his lips, thinking that maybe Arthur was in some sort of shock and needed a bit of normalcy to bring him out of it.

Arthur's eyes didn't change, but a ghost of a smile – genuine, bitter, mocking, Merlin didn't know. "You have magic," he said plainly.

And that's when the dam broke.

Merlin realized then that what he had been seeing was not nothing, but everything, so much at once, that it had blotted out all recognition. It was like when Gaius was mixing a lot of different colored potions or herbs. Each color was recognizable on its own, but together, they blended and mixed so much that all the many colors became an inky black. No color, nothing.

Arthur's colors had been so mixed that his eyes had seemed void and empty. But now Merlin got to see every emotion as it passed through Arthur's eyes in turn. Disbelief. Hurt. Confusion. Awe. Anger. Affection. Understanding. Frustration. Everything was so obvious that Merlin wondered how he'd missed it to begin with.

Not ten seconds after the show of emotions, the stoic mask was back on, but at least Merlin knew that there was something behind this nothing.

"The knights – they're all dead."

Merlin bit his lip. Tristan, Rupert, Daniel, and Owen. Merlin hadn't known any of them well, but he'd tried to protect them anyway. The trouble was, his main priority was Arthur, and it was hard to keep an eye on five people at once when there was one in particular that seemed to attract trouble more than normal. Merlin had only been able to get Arthur away alive, and he felt like rubbish because of it.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur blinked. "You're _sorry_?"

"I wish I could have saved them. I—"

"_Mer_lin," said Arthur, and Merlin's heart stuttered at the familiar pronunciation. "Did you send the hoard of bandits to attack us?"

"Um, no," said Merlin slowly, gut clenching. Surely Arthur didn't think that _he'd_ had anything to do with this attack? "I'm pretty sure it was Morgana's doing, Sire."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Now's not the time to be funny, Merlin," he said. Merlin blinked, and Arthur laughed. _Actually laughed_. "You're not trying to be funny." Arthur scrubbed a hand down his face. "Gods, you're still an idiot, magic or not, aren't you?"

Merlin tried not to be offended, and failed tremendously. He didn't say anything, very unsure of where this was going.

"I'm not afraid of you, Merlin. You saved my life. You tried to save my knights."

"But you're angry." Not a question.

"Of course I'm bloody angry!" Merlin flinched back, heat pressing at the back of his eyes and a knot sticking in his throat.

"Be that as it may, I still need to tend to your wound, Sire…"

"But that doesn't mean I'm not grateful."

Merlin stopped. "I've only ever used it for good. For you. I was born with it, I didn't choose it."

Arthur looked surprised, but held up a hand to stop Merlin from continuing. For once, Merlin listened. "Look, we'll have plenty of time to discuss this later. And believe me, you're going to tell me _everything_. But for now, it's growing dark, there could still be bandits, we're both injured, and I know that you're more likely to hurt yourself than me, so let's wait until tomorrow, yeah?"

"Arthur—"

"_Mer_lin."

Merlin sighed. "I'm sorry."

"For saving my life?"

"Never."

"There you go."

As Merlin began to tend to Arthur's wound, the silence was tenser than usual, the weight of the secret and the conversations and confessions to come hanging in the air, palpable. But still Merlin hoped, because when Arthur had spoken to him earlier, Merlin had tried to detect any sign of hatred in his voice, had searched for it in his eyes. But of hatred or malice or an intent to harm, there had been, in Arthur's eyes and face and voice, nothing.

And it was the most encouraging nothing that Merlin could hope for.

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**Next word: ****_gargalesthesia_****(the sensation felt when one is tickled; the response to being tickled): **Merlin gets cursed with a tickling spell and giggles at the most inopportune moments... Much to Arthur's - and Uther's - chagrin.

**This next one's going to be very fun... :) More soon! Please review! :D Thanks so much for your reviews, favorites, and follows! :D**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


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